أرض الكوابيس

I somehow interrupted the story of the other day- that travelogue to the unexpected- just to refer to the disappearance of my favorite pasta brand back home. Memory-work proceeds multiplied, because it is the full and personal field where the roads cross, the sights merge, time shifts and where a tiny particle of information may create gigantic shadows.
But, voila, we now crossed the borders and in the nice cloudy day we drive to Damascus. There is no hotel reservation anymore, as you remember. No Meridien, no Damascus International, no Venicia, not a thing. So, the suggestion was to try our luck on the airport way, where the rumors suggested luxury. The distance should not scare us, since the car was available. BUT BELIEVE ME, eventually IT SHOULD. Before long, we reached the area of the International Damascus Fair, some 18 km from the city center, and here it stands: like the late samples of Socialist Grandiose Architecture, Ebla Cham. A huge lobby, surrounded by the internal balconies decorated with wood, that they create the impression that you entered the Scala, in Milan. Nice... We asked for the price, they offered the unbelievable amount of 190 USD plus tax per night. Thanks to what we ambiguously call "Luck", a Jordanian group (part of it actually) has just arrived and, since we happen to know most of the travel agencies in Amman and the guides, this polite young man offered to help us out and to book through his agency. We got the nice, big, warm, nicely painted and decorated room for half the desk price. Great. Then we decided to go to the center, to "Kamal", for a late lunch/early dinner. And by that time we discovered the reality. The streets of Damascus work as the challenge of Labyrinth. Easy to enter, difficult to find your way out: the signs are unbelievable, they are placed at enigmatic locations, and the highways go to thoroughly different directions in case one commits a small mistake. Plus heavy traffic, plus people going the wrong direction and ignoring the traffic lights. After forty minutes we reached, after two hours we went to have some coffee, after two hours and a half we discovered that we were attacked by what is described as "travelers' diarrhea" . Rushed back to the hotel, another fifty minutes, dramatic pressure, agonized moments :). By 8:30 p.m. my friend was sleeping peacefully exhausted from the adventure, the early start of the Eid day and the driving. I went down to the lobby to realize that the huge place is haunted. No one was there, except the waiter, and the night shift guys of the reception. Where could I go 18 km away from the center, under a 15 m long chandelier?
The next day started smoothly: The crowded and, at places, under restoration covered market, Bab Tuma (thank God we did not buy anything except chestnuts, you will know why) , Costa Cafe at Four Seasons. Then we thought why not to go up to the mountain Qassyoon, to admire the night falling onto the city... This was uttered by 5:15 p.m. and we started driving uphill. By 5:40 we were close to the TV antenna, under snowflakes, something so Christmas-like, so I suggested we should drive back. and indeed, we were operating a U-turn when we heard the double scary explosions: the two left side tires had been cut like rose pedals at a sharp edged pit in the middle of the road. The spare was unavailable. So we hastily parked and started going down on foot, under snow. The area is a military zone, due to the presidential palace which is located nearby. Close to the main street we eventually found a taxi, he gave us a lift to a tires' shop (the first day of the holiday not many shops are open anyway) and then we started trying
to find a reasonable solution. In order to replace the tires, one should go up to the mountain to pick them, to put the new ones and, then, to fix them again on the vehicle. Mmmm, you can imagine at what prices, and every time we were moving up and down the owner would discover a previous mistake so the cost would climb higher and higher. How did we go up? By a '70s car, with a 70 years old driver. What did we find there? Around 5 soldiers and an officer setting the poor vehicle under siege. We explained, they checked, they showed interest and care indeed. I kept wiping all along the front window of the '70s car so that there would be some visibility left for our driver. It felt like Karate-Kid 1 exercise. We finished around 9:40 p.m. frozen and poor.
The coming day, we bought few fruits and some cheese and we started driving back. Again some late donations, again some rally from one desk to the other. When we saw the smiles of King Abdullah and late King Hussein, on the borders, we definitely felt better, and we enjoyed the fact that we would have many conclusions to draw in the days to come.
What is Maktub? It is having your left side tires finely cut while your spare is useless and you forgot your tools kit. And many other things...

أرض الأحلام

In English, in the newspaper ad, the brand name of the company was translated as "Dreamland". Which is precise in terms of translation, and so contradictory in terms of connotation. Consider this note as a sketch about the function of destiny, whenever it decides to become grandiose and to prove the humorous root in the universal manual of use. A single event may shock us and leave the impression of a tragedy, while sometimes the succession of unfortunate events that they unfold themselves with the density of nice 19th century prose, may give a fully comical sense.
So this أرض الأحلام (Dreamland) is or, rather, used to be the name of a well established travel agency in Rabiah, Amman, which accommodated the dreams of many Jordanian families and individuals, and of some ex-pats like myself, especially during the occasions of the somewhat longer breaks, during the lesser and the major Feast, the birthday of the Prophet, the day of Independence, the Labor's Day, the Islamic New Year, days like these... For me and my closest friend it has become a ritual in a way to travel to Damascus during these memorable days, in order to divert a bit the iron hand of identical routine days. Damascus is close to Amman (some 200 km), the old city is great, the Wall Gates are plenty, the food is heavenly, Ghrawi chocolates are just an achievement in the kingdom of cacao, the visa process for me is quite simple. Good reasons for making an easy decision or not?
On the other hand, if one decides to book his/her room upon the arrival to the city, this may cost quite expensive. The Syrian normal hotels offer small rooms, very standard-type-of-thing. Therefore, the easy solution is to book through an agency. They have good offers, plus one avoids the hustle of negotiating with taxi drivers. Plus the fun of sharing moments with Jordanian families, the details of behaviour. I have learned pretty much this way and became conscious of even more. My favorite hotel there is Teshreen, which is adjacent to the Stadium of Teshreen: it is not grand, but very warm, with well sized rooms and it forces you to walk to the various locations of interest without tiring you out. I always fight back my friend's tendency towards luxury, but this time I decided to succumb, let us make it a bit shiny with the Meridien option, which is conveniently located next to our favorite coffee shop. This temptation/weakness brought us to the Dreamland.
The second part unfolds in front of the agency, on the first day of Eid Al Adha, from 6:30 a.m. till 7:40 a.m. in front of the locked premises of the agency, expecting for the bus. Only one family (two elderly parents and their 20ish son) was there with their luggage. Gradually we face the truth. A third participant comes to check if the rumours were true: He heard that the owner of the Dreamland collected all the money and rushed to his own dream somewhere in Turkey, fleeing the country. "It was on the News"... Many people, heading to distant destinations lost considerable amounts of money, unlike us who lost no more than 120 J.D. each. We gave a seat to the family to Al Abdali to get a taxi to Damascus. They were decisive and did not want to let down their son, who would travel for the first time abroad.
The facts: The Dream-broker collected some 93,000 J.D. as they said. The guarantee of the office was approximately 75,000 J.D. Hence, for the modest amount of 18,000 he destroyed his name, he harmed his family, frustrated many people who even took loans for their trips, and spoiled the reputation of the tourist business in Jordan. The brother of my dear friend Malik lost the same way his honey moon arrangements and quite a lot of money...Things get cheap at some point, more frequently than they should.
I said, the Sibylla of Shadows: "Well, it is irritating and funny. But let us stay for the Eid in Amman." Ala'a, my friend, insisted on fulfilling the dream. So, there they are the two guys in the car, driving to the borders, crossing with difficulty the borders (bureaucracy is an international phenomenon), giving eidiyyeh (=special treat- money- on the occasion of celebrations) to various Syrian customs' employees, rushing from one stamp to the next. Keep these in mind, and I will elaborate on playful Destiny next time.

Πριν τους αλλάξει...

Τους συναντάς Παρασκευή αργά. Η αργία κάνει τους δρόμους γύρω ασύχναστους, εκτός από τον συγκεκριμένο που έχει μερικά καφέ και τα μαγαζιά με τα επώνυμα ρούχα και τις μόδες ενυδρείου, εννοώ τα σχέδια που δεν μπορούν να φορεθούν εύκολα σε καθημερινές συνθήκες, χωρίς σχόλια και τα νεύματα αποδοκιμασίας από τον ευσεβή όχλο. Εκεί υπάρχει ζωή, έστω με μηχανική υποστήριξη, όπως στις μονάδες εντατικής θεραπείας: στην αρτηρία περνούν τα αυτοκίνητα με τα παιδιά από όλες τις γειτονιές. Τα θηριώδη τζιπ υποδεικνύουν σύντομη διαδρομή από το πλησιόχωρο κούφο Αμπντούν. Τα παραγεμισμένα παλιά αμάξια δείχνουν όσους ξεκίνησαν από το Τζάμπαλ Χουσεϊν ή και την Ασραφίγιε με τα πυκνά διαμερίσματα, χωρίς κουρτίνες κάποτε.
Μπαίνουμε στο Στάρμπακς, εκεί που οι υπάλληλοι φωνάζουν την παραγγελία σου με τη φωνή στεντόρεια, γιατί έτσι είναι η πολιτική της αλυσίδας ανά τον κόσμο, να δημιουργεί την εντύπωση πολύβουης αμερικανικής μεγαλούπολης, σε ώρα αιχμής, στο κέντρο. Όντας καπνιστής, αντιπαθώ το μέρος, μα είναι εύκολο, τέτοια ώρα, τέτοια λόγια. Είναι έξοχοι, ήρεμοι, ευγενικοί, ρωτούν με πραγματικό ενδιαφέρον για διάφορα, για εντυπώσεις από ταξίδια, παρατηρήσεις από την καθημερινότητα της δουλειάς και των συμπεριφορών στη χώρα, τη δεύτερη πατρίδα. Τους χωρίζουν περίπου δέκα χρόνια. Τους ενώνουν η αγάπη τους και η προσδοκία για την αγάπη που προηγήθηκε επί σειράν επίμονων κι απεγνωσμένων ονειροπολήσεων. Κάποτε φεύγουμε. Χαρούμενοι για τη συνάντηση και όσα είπαμε. Όμως αισθάνομαι μια μελαγχολία, έναν αποσιωπημένο καημό στα μάτια με το χρώμα του μελιού. Θέλω να βεβαιωθώ, αν πράγματι το κατάλαβα καλά, αν δεν επέβαλα την ερμηνεία μου σε κάτι ελάχιστες κινήσεις και χαμηλώματα του βλέμματος. Το κλειδί είναι ένας κοινός γνωστός που μου αναφέρει τα καθέκαστα. Ο Α. ετοιμάζεται να φύγει στις ΗΠΑ, έλαβε ή παίρνει αυτές τις μέρες τη βίζα του και ίσως και την πράσινη κάρτα, γιατί οι δικοί του διαμένουν εκεί, στη μαγική Αμέρικα... Έπειτα βρίσκω και το μπλογκ του, με τις φωτογραφίες από την οικογένεια στη Μασαχουσέτη, από την αποφοίτηση του μάστερ, από κάτι εκδρομές στη Βηρυτό, με τα ωραία κείμενα, με περιγραφές γενεθλίων, κάτι σύντομα σχόλια-απαντήσεις με ευχές και σεμνά παράπονα ή φόβους. Δε γίνεται να τον ακολουθήσει, μάλλον.
Έτσι όπως την έζησα αυτήν τη χώρα, τη σκέφτομαι συχνά ως ένα σταθμό αναχωρήσεων, όλοι πασχίζουν να φύγουν, στην Αμερική, στη Βόρεια Ευρώπη, στον Καναδά, στην Αυστραλία. Κι έχει την ατμόσφαιρα του κέντρου διερχομένων. Κάποτε περιμένω, όπως στο Σταθμό Λαρίσης, στα γυαλισμένα και φαγωμένα από τα τόσα πατήματα μωσαϊκά, να αρχίσουν οι αναγγελίες για τόπους προορισμού του συρμού. Και νά'ναι με τη φωνή ας πούμε της Λαμπέτη και το δρομολόγιο να έχει ως ακολούθως:

Πριν τους αλλάξει ο Χρόνος
Λυπήθηκαν μεγάλως στον αποχωρισμό των
Δεν τόθελαν αυτοί ήταν οι περιστάσεις.
Βιοτικές ανάγκες εκάμνανε τον ένα
να φύγει μακρυά- Νέα Υόρκη ή Καναδά.
Η αγάπη των βεβαίως δεν ήταν ίδια όπως πριν
είχεν ελαττωθεί η έλξις βαθμηδόν,
είχεν ελαττωθεί η έλξις της πολύ.
Όμως να χωρισθούν, δεν τόθελαν αυτοί.
Ήταν η περιστάσεις.- Ή μήπως καλλιτέχνις
εφάνηκεν η Τύχη χωρίζοντάς τους τώρα
πριν σβύσει το αισθημά των, πριν τους αλλάξει ο Χρόνος
ο ένας για τον άλλον θα είναι ως να μένει πάντα
των είκοσι τεσσάρων ετών τ'ωραίο παιδί.

Έπειτα ο σταθμάρχης με το κόκκινο σιρίτι του θα σφυρίξει και θα δώσει το σήμα, κατεβάζοντας απότομα το χέρι του.

the friday effect

This recurrent, weekly pause sometimes brings me nausea, or migraine. Not Saturday, it is Friday the potential aspirin day. Is it all about the religious context of the holiday? It could be, because I clearly remember in Greece it was the Sunday(not cheerful Saturday) church bells that were making my head blow. Perhaps a reminder of penitence and redemption, one can never be sure about these things, universal energy stuff, flying angels, instances that one would rather block than investigate, scrutinize or remember. Or is it the available few extra free hours that cause a general bodily horror, how to deal with them, far from the automatic motions of the established roles?

Ways out:

1. a drive to the countryside- I do not drive, useless creep of philology.

2. a ride to the countryside- So many arrangements have to take place beforehand that we reach early afternoon, many princes to wake up, meanwhile my migraine has disappeared already by itself.

3. a coffee outing at bluefig/abdoun -Yeah, ok, I do that, but there are the families, with the mothers in law and the children, and- worst of all- those clowns who are supposed to keep children busy, and looking at them and their crayons I want everytime to cry.

4. a coffee at home with my best friend- Most of the times, Ala'a passes by, he is the best coffee companion one can dream of, but on Friday mornings he suffers of a strange gush, he keeps revising the whole week, and then he recites poetry for me. Then I am lost among so many varieties of speech: the son, the employee, the dear friend, the poet...

5. Music- Yesssssssss. Today George Onslow, Quintette a cordes opus 78 (strings are not good for headache, but pleasure does you good).

6. A long walk in the Downtown- This is a promise that I 97,4% do not keep and postpone.

7. Calling and answering the phone- Mama, and Baba, (my friends are at work, so it cannot be, on Sundays they are at home, I am at work: we meet virtually either on late-evening-tired-voice occasions or in dreams). But these days it feels nice finding my parents' voices getting again relaxed and hopeful after many weeks of stress and agony.

Yalllllllllla enjoy. It is Friday.....