Damascus, snap snap, snap

I am sorry - I have just loaded so many photographs that I have lost count. My blog fairy just sent a plaintive "Tell me when you've stopped....".

I have stopped. At some stage I will load a lot more onto my new professional account at Flickr.

How would I choose what to leave out? If there is one place you should try to see it is Damascus. I am hoping that these photographs will give you just the tiniest glimpse,a sense of the magic and richness of the city and its people, and a culture that goes back much further than ours.

If a picture is worth a thousand words, I have just written a book.

(For photos without captions, just hover your cursor over the picture for a brief explanation.)

This exquisite silk is hand woven and it takes two men two days to make half a metre. It costs about the same as a Kaffe Fassett print in Australia.

This was our first sight on arrival in Damascus - the VIP room at the International Airport is just amazing with so much pattern and colour.

I haven't bought these yet - but next time. I suspect the embroidery of the cross stitch is by machine.

Cotton weft, suposedly silk warp, though I think it is rayon or mercerised cotton mix of some sort. They are bright and very beautiful.

The fabrics piled behind them are still damp from the dyer, and pre-embroidered.

Where most ingredients are aphrodisiac - or, as explained to me with great seriousness, "to make the man strong in the bed". Somehow I don't think they meant that muscles would build up as he slept.

Everything for sale - in the tiniest of shops.

An alley near the paper suq.

The perfume sellers can copy any perfume made in essential oils. at a song and in total ignorance of copyright.

Chrysanthemum, camomile, mint and marimiya - and other tea ingredients, with sugar crystals in the front and olive oil soaps behind.

Rosebuds for Teas

Another view of the same area

This minaret is the Minaret of Jesus Christ, where,according to Moslems, Jesus will return to earth. I am fascinated by this crossing-over of religious ideas.

This is the Gallery for Across Australia

Just in case it makes people more enthusiastic, this is the gallery for the Across Australia Exhibition in Damascus.

The door to Khan Azem Pasha has a smaller door inset to allow access of people without letting the camels out. It also ensures that anyone entering or leaving has to do so bent over - a difficult postion to swing a sword from.
It is impossible to take a photo of the full door as you just cannot get far enough away in the narrow alley.

This has to be one of the most spectacular gallery space I have seen. It is an old caravanserai in the centre of the Old City of Damascus. Camel trains would come in and the camels would stay loaded. There is a big pool in the centre, and the animals would move arond the area on the bottom. Small shops would be set up on the ground floor and all accommodation was on top. Each occupant was locked into his room from the outside at night to ensure the safety of the loads on the camels.

Suq Hamidyeh and Faisal's Treasures

The entrance to Suq Hamidyeh is a rounded archway roofed in corrugated iron with a thousand small holes. Shafts of light reach through like long light fingers, catching and lighting the dust that swirls in the air at this time of year. The holes look like stars but are actually bullet and shrapnel holes dating from the French withdrawal in 1946. Under your feet are cobblestones, dark and satiny with age and wear.

Inside the tunnel is dark, but the shops glow down the sides like jeweled caverns. Brass table tops and lights, the glitter of gold, in tassels, in sequins on belly dance costumes, in fringes on elaborate curtains and the full-on scarlet and emerald and turquoise and azure of textiles of the Orient light the tiny cubicles – some not bigger than an Aussie bathroom.

If you walk on, past the entrance to the carpet suq on your right, past the feathered underwear, past the lines of mannequins (strangely like Russian war time posters in facial expressions and stance), past the leather, and the kitchen suq on your left – on in fact until you are almost at the Roman Archway you will reach my current favourite shop in Hamidyeh.

Its official name is Omayed Stores, named after the Mosque at the end of the tunnel. No-one calls it that – it is just Faisal’s.

Faisal has a collection of textiles to die for. Many of the pieces in John Gillow’s book on the textiles of the World came from this shop. Also a lot of the wonderful costumes from Jehan Rajaub’s Costume Museum in Kuwait came from this shop. Faisal is a serious collector, and while he has the tablecloths and galabiehs of the other shops, he has a room upstairs that is a treasure room of textiles. He is a true collector, and handles things with pride and affection. He has pieces he keeps hidden as he doesn’t want to sell them. He tells a story of John Gillow coming into the shop and swinging both arms up, palms towards his face, in a full double armed beckon with the comment “Down, down, get it all down.” I was tempted by the ikat coats but that will be for next time.

On my first day in Damascus I bought a Yemeni tunic from Faisal. These are intended to go over black pants. They are long and wide and very striking, with a curious woven silver metal trim which is formally twisted and couched down. Against the wall was a tower of them – possibly one hundred dresses. He gave me a coined cap and a silver and black headscarf that covers all the top of our queen sized bed. I also bought a black dress embroidered heavily with rust and orange – just because it was unusual.

On the second visit to the shop I bought five absolutely stunning Syrian dresses, some to bring back for family and friends. Each was elaborately cross stitched and so much work – and less than the price of a single cotton shirt from Maggie T.

No wonder I had to buy a case.

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Cabs and cases

Three things happened in a row. A lovely friend, Mohammed from Antiquo in the Street Called Straight, helped my by writing a note for me to show to a taxi driver. In effect, it said, “This lady who carries this note has done too much shopping in Damascus. She must buy another large suitcase to carry it on the plane. Please take her to a place where there is a good choice of cheap cases, then back to the Sheraton Hotel.

He then waved down a cab which just happened to be conveniently passing and spoke rapidly to him through the window, deeming the note unnecessary. The driver taxi driver took off, roaring through the narrow streets, taking large roundabouts on two wheels on the far outside edge – all the better to zoom around things, but meaning that he had to drive at twice the speed to keep up with those I the middle. At one point we skidded and fishtailed slightly and I asked him to slow down.

Two corners later he hooked around to the right (like our left turn) and at such speed that he very narrowly missed another cab who hooted and abused him, our driver swerved slightly, mounted the very high Syrian kerb with a bang, dropped off it again and fishtailed down the road with other drivers abusing him as he went. I exploded into quite rude Arabic, he slowed down, muttered an apology of sorts (Arabs on the whole do not often apologise as it implies wrongdoing – or maybe that is a bit of a boy thing?) and seemed very chastened. His driving became almost sedate, slightly spoiled by his attempts to lean out the window as he went to see if he had damaged his cab.

At about this point we realised that Mohammed might have told him we were in a big hurry. We were, but not enough to risk dying for! At least that idea explained some of the level of haste.

We arrived at a luggage suq – shop after shop of just cases. Three hefty young men – one of them good looking enough to make we wonder if he would fit in a case – took turns waving cases (large ones) around in mid air and telling me how good they were. Syrians are into big wheels and some of these looked like millipedes, they had so many. I think they would last two minutes in the average luggage handlers’ bay. As I started to move into the slightly more expensive ranges (big cases actually over ten Aussie dollars) they got more animated. Several cases were thumped and one even jumped on to show me how good it was. It was strong, but I could hardly lift it, even empty.

By the time I selected a $20 case and left (five minutes) I felt as if I had just had an hour crowd-surfing on testosterone.

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Escalating tensions

There are changes outside the opening to Suq Hamidyah. In my earlier visits you were dropped on the opposite side of the street, and had to brave a constant wall of cabs and traffic. If you walked forward slowly and deliberately cars would duck you in front until they had to start dodging behind, and so on – across three lanes of heavy traffic, reversing direction on the centre, or more or less the centre, depending on the time of day. It was terrifying if you looked.

Now there is an underpass, actually lined with shops on either side like stations in central Sydney. Better still, while you have to use the stairs if you walk down, there are escalators for those going up. This is amazing, as they are very rare in Syria. Even hotels have lifts, not escalators. The airport has stairs.

A family stepped on, a few at a time and very warily. Last, and just in front of me was a small boy, whose mother reached back to assist him, then looked ahead. He tried to steady himself as the escalator moved, grabbing with flat hands at the side wall of polished stainless steel. His hands were warm and sticky and gripped well, but his feet went inexorably up while his hands stayed put, and I grabbed him when he was almost horizontal but still gripping for dear life.

A terrified woman was trying to board the escalator. Her foot would hover, and she would panic, and try again. Her husband had gone ahead not realising that there was a problem. A friend and I tried to help, offering to hold her hand and tell her when to get on and she dissolved in tears. In the end she gave up, went the long way and found stairs.

Quandary

We visit a shop which I frequented regularly (is that a tautology?) in my unthinking past which has every CD you can imagine, for $4. They look exactly like the real thing – even the pictures on the CDs, the lyrics in the booklet in the cover, and so on. Not dodgy quality, no bad photocopied labels – just immaculate CDs - which are all pirated and illegal by the standards of anywhere else but Syria.

These are legal in Syria and my friend who runs the shop told me that copyright laws are now in place and will come in one day, and then he will have to stop making the CDs as he is not willing to break the law. I am terribly torn between my position as wife of a very vulnerable government officer, my knowledge through dear friends (like my blog fairy) of the music industry and damage done by illegal selling of CDs and my lust for the CDs available here which are just not around in Cairo. Google Nai Music and see what I mean. And no – they will not sell outside of Syria because that is illegal. And no – I won’t bring any back because my conscience would not let me.

A comment on Nai from a merchant in the suq – “those guys, they sell anything. All you have to do is go home and cook the dinner”.

Sugar and spice

Between the Street Called Straight (which has a kink in the middle) and the end of the Suq Hamidyeh at the Omayed Mosque is the sweet suq. In the beginning of this suq, just across from the Azem Palace, is a small shop, enclosed, unlike those around where the wares are spread out to be viewed. Here there is a longish entrance with glass fronted cabinets displaying the beautiful inlaid wooden boxes for which Damascus is famous. On the front door is a sign “Purveyors to HM Queen Elizabeth 11. They once had the official sign with the coat of arms, but the door was broken and they had to have an etched sign made instead.

Sugar Crystals from the sweet suq

Wooden boxes, to be filled with sweets

This is Ghraouis. It is the best known sweet shop in Syria, and possibly one of the best in the Middle East, where sweet making comes second only to religion in importance. This is an extraordinary sweet shop. These are the sweets of One Thousand Nights and a Night. I have loved this way of translating it, as it is so much closer to the sense of poetry of this part of the world than our rather ordinary Thousand and One Nights.

There are no new flavours, for these combinations have been blended with care for the last two hundred years by the same family. Unlike most things in Syria, these sweets are not cheap, and a kilo will cost about $25 Australian. Just as well, as otherwise I would buy half the shop.

My favourite is a long ridged log with an outside coating of marzipan – and this is not the heavily enriched with almond flavouring that we often get in Australia – but a delicately rich crisp coating. This is scored deeply twice on one edge, and in the scores there is a greenish glow. This side is toasted to give a toasted almond ridge on one side only. Inside the almond coating is a puree of moist, slightly sweetened, pistachio, granular but with an occasional whole nut. This is nuts on nuts, a mealy sandy texture on the tongue, the slight bitterness of fresh almonds, and the sweetness and colour and unique scent of pistachios.

For those who prefer their marzipan less adulterated, there are wonderful marzipan roses, perfectly modeled and formed and about three inches across, marzipan slightly scented with rose water. These are pure Middle East, and almost confusing for the rose scent is just that, a scent in your nose, but so delicate on the tongue that it hardly exists.

Marzipan stuffed with pistachio paste

Now reach for one of the firm gold wrapped logs. These are a firm paste of tangy apricot holding together whole pistachios. These are dredged in icing sugar before they are wrapped, so opening the paper releases a cloud of fine sugar into the air that reaches your tongue before the sweet, waking up taste buds for the explosive tang of apricot. This dusting is the only added sugar, but it ensures that you breathe out as you bite, not in, or you inhale the powder. It is not a great idea to eat these in a black shirt! They are the perfect thing in a handbag for traveling or for those times where you want something – but want to feel that it is reasonably healthy.

Try the logs of nougat – packed separately in see-through wraps to tempt you. There are pistachios which are so much greener than the ones we usually see, bonded in a honeyed nougat, there are nougats of toasted almonds with the scent of rosewater. There is louqum – which we often call Turkish delight. Syrians claim it though, as does Iran and other areas around here. We tend to think of it as only pink and rose water flavoured, and with that soft but stretchy texture. Here is has many variations, though it is usually firmer and less gelatinous, and it is used a bonding for confections of nuts and fruits. You can buy soft discs of pistachios, flavoured with orange flower water where the outsides are covered in fine orange rind, and logs of toasted almonds with a coating of sesame seeds, or walnuts all held together with louqum.

Ghraoui has caramels, softer than Columbines, and more richly flavoured, and jellies of many colours and flavours, so soft they shimmy in their piles if you bump the table which displays them. These, or ones like them, are sold all around the sweet suq, and often on mobile carts and in all sorts of brilliant colours, for many other companies use strong colouring for its child appeal. The huge piles of spiral-stacked jellies undulate gently as they approach over the cobblestones.

Sweets and spices in a shop the open suq.

Looking into the sweet suq with Ghraoui's on the right but not visible.

The tiny sugared sweets in the very front are anise seeds and fennel coated in coloured sugar. All these cheap sweets sell at about 50 cents a kilo.

They make the sweets for which Ghraoui, and Damascus are most famous, whole fruits, often with the seeds still inside, cooked whole in sugar syrups and set, slightly gelatinous, in paper cups which hold them. These must be the sugar plums, of the sugar plum fairy! They are rich and a bit sweet to my taste. More jammy in flavour than our crystallized fruits with the essence of the fruit, dates, apricots, plums, figs, whole small peaches, tiny apples no more than two inches in diameter, tiny pears before corellas were trendy in Australia, rolls of orange rind with none of the nasty bitterness of our candied peel, but holding the essence of that sunshine filled flavour of the whole fruit. Sometimes they pack apricot halves, seeds removed, and stud them with whole pistachios like birds nests complete with eggs, and stuff several ‘nests’ into a paper case.

However, the best of all are the chocolates. They coat everything in rich dark bitter chocolate, no mild or gentle flavours here. They fill them with rough crushed coffee beans, with pastes of orange rind and crushed almond, with pistachio paste with a whole pistachios studded through it, they coat all the louqum varieties, and the apricot and pistachio pastes. The croquant is a dark toffee thick with toasted almonds, but in thin and delicate slices and coated with chocolate so it is crisp on the teeth, but not hard to eat. These are the other side of the coin from Swiss chocolate, with its buttery richness and delicacy of flavours. These are the worker class of chocolate, rough and guttural and wholehearted, each with a blast of flavour. They cannot be eaten absentmindedly in front of television. They demand full attention.

No wonder Queen Elizabeth still orders them occasionally.