Ramadan Karim! Damascus and Beirut, a year or so later

This first week has been a flurry of catching up with old friends, apartment hunting, orientation sessions, as well as walking around Damascus and Beirut and letting one layer of memories tease another layer out. I'm far from settling in (didn't sleep in the same bed twice for the first ten days or so...) and have held back from blogging because it turns out to be quite difficult to reclaim oneself from the dizzy state of disorientation that threatens to overwhelm any prior experience of being in the region.

More or less, I"ve been picking up my broken Arabic again, figuring out how to get from A to Z and not realizing it will take an hour longer than planned for, remembering the Olympic sport of "egress" in Damascene public transport (eg getting in and out of microbuses), learning to tune out the constant blare of horns by irritated drivers (this might never become habituated), constantly reminding myself to drink more water, foregoing showers after I forget to turn on the electric water heater, constantly eyeing internet cafes for a wireless connection that has yet to function properly, navigating the Ramadan schedule (more on this below).

I also wondered whether to organize this blog by daily life -- from one day to the next -- or thematically by impressions? Today we begin with the latter:

As I discovered with NYC several years ago, one of the best ways to intimate oneself with a city is to look for housing. And to permit one's instinct to dictate whether one prefers one neighborhood over another, even if the preference is based on superficial impressions and general cluelessness. Finding shelter is more important than withholding judgment!!

So I've decided that I'd love to live in the neighborhood of Afif, also close to Muhajireen. Why here? It's nestled against Mount Kassiyoun and the streets rise steeply from the main drag of Muhajireen, which curves around the mountain's slope. One can also ascend majestically up the stone pedestrian staircases. It's bustling with storefronts that service the local middle-class residents, from fresh produce stands and bodegas to shawarma stalls, pizza huts, and barber/salons. These appear to be mostly services and products for a Syrian-Arab population -- as opposed to Somalian, Nigerian, Malay, Iraqi, Yemeni, Circassian, Armenian, and many other ethno-linguistic minorities that live in greater Damascus. I did notice a sign in Chinese as I passed by service ("ser-vees" a public mini-bus) today but the shop was closed due to Ramadan so perhaps I'll return to check it out.

The shops are tucked into each other with a physical intimacy that differs from, say, Abu Roumanneh or Sahat Maalki which feature tall apartment buildings with extensive roof terraces that border wide, tree-lined avenues. There is an absence of modern sidewalk cafes that one finds in Sha'alan, a destination neighborhood for cosmopolitan youth and emerging entrepreneurs (and expats!). But these neighborhoods are only five minutes away by taxi, or a nice 15-min walk.

I'd looked at two places in Muhajireen last week and been somewhat taken by them. The first was a room in a "beit arabi" or traditional Syrian house that features an inner courtyard with bedrooms, matbakh (kitchen), and hamam (bath) set off from the courtyard, which may feature a fountain or garden that offers shade, respite, and a space to gather. These kinds of residences are normally associated with the "old city" neighborhoods of most Middle Eastern cities. This charming "beit arabi" was all the more charming as several friends who graduated from the Institute of Fine Arts five years ago established an artist's colony and rehabilitated many of its exterior features... oh so bohemian! But a little too much so, as they said that there were still several repairs to be done and I know that I'd prefer a fully functional kitchen (being mostly vegetarian in Damascus is not easily maintained). Also I'm a bit nervous about the winter in Damascus -- supposedly it's very drafty and cold -- and the traditional houses are built to resist summer heat through natural ventilation.

The second place I saw through a local broker. Finding the broker was a small story in itself, a typical "adventure" of a newcomer trying to use her broken Arabic to get around. I arranged an appointment by mobile in Arabic but couldn't understand the exact location of the office, so I hailed a taxi and, as suggested by the broker, called him again. The phone was handed directly to the taxi driver who delivered me promptly to the destination in Muhajireen. I then met with the landlord of the 2-bd flat and he showed me all the features of the residence. Souffage heating (a must in any apartment worth its salt!), one electrical outlet per bedroom, a salon with satellite TV, a Western-style toilet and bathroom (though the tub was about 3/4 size?!), and a large kitchen that overlooks a small garden. I could imagine quiet mornings with coffee... that then proceed out to the cozy strip of Muhajireen where I would catch a service and get caught up in the constant bustle of urban Damascus. Very nice!

But what really clinched my intrigue with this neighborhood was a small exchange today. It's Ramadan in Damascus -- a statement that means nothing and everything. Certainly our daily lives are structured around the setting of the sun and the streets empty out at 6pm as everyone gathers in homes for iftar, the meal that breaks the Ramadan fast. Before iftar, one can purchase all sorts of seasonal sweets and pastries, most of which appear to be a variation of dates, date paste, date syrup, date juice, et al. I was en route to Bab Touma at about 6pm today and asked a woman on the street how I might get to the Christian area by service (all in Arabic of course!) This led to an extensive conversation about which routes were best, where we lived, and how to navigate the city. Meanwhile all the taxis that passed by us were full with passengers and a service refused to show up, so we continued to chat a bit. Finally, we ended up in the same service (to her surprise, as she had claimed that the service I was looking for didn't pass by this intersection). The service climbed up the hill casually and stopped to let off a few passengers, let on some more. We passed by a large mosque next to a shawarma stand that was starting to line up with customers. Men were stepping outside of the mosque door, putting on their shoes, while other men passed by with a large bag of round, flat bread (khubz) resting over the right lower arm. And then, I caught a whiff of hot dates (tammar). "Hajj, b'fadhali!" An affable elder (affectionately called "hajj" in public) held a tray of bite-size pastries -- just enough bite to break the fast -- and passed them to each of us passengers in the service. Mmm.. hot and fresh maamoul and croissant dough! The woman and I looked at each other... "Ramadan Karim!" and she departed with a friendly, crinkly smile for me, and I in return.