In Syria

After over six weeks of non-stop Egypt, I am in Syria, feverishly writing down my first impressions as they wash over me. But I almost didn't get here. Flying out of Cairo was a mêlée or a mosh pit or perhaps uncorked anarchy is a better description. It was physical and people were screaming at each other in a way that was not the normal Arab screaming, using hand gestures that did not need a lot of translating. An Iraqi fellow standing near me must have seen the panic in my eyes. He told me to stick by him at all costs as he shepherded me through various mobs of people, explaining to me how he was on my flight to Damascus to visit his mother, who had fled Bagdad. He was in Baghdad until late 2005, when Shiite militia started killing all the engineers and doctors. His son is studying computer science in North Carolina, so we bonded instantly on the engineering connection. I then realized that he was wearing a pocket protector equipped with several pens and a notebook, and that he was awkward in speaking with others and had trouble with eye contact. He definitely had the engineering gene.

I now want to give Egypt Air credit for figuring out how to get an aircraft to 25000ft while maintaining a cabin temperature of over 90F despite outside temperatures hovering around -30F.

Just as our front wheel touched down in Damascus, the plane erupted with a simultaneous "Al Hamdu Lillah!" (Thanks be to God!), at which point everyone jumped up out of their seat and started wildly pawing at the overhead bins, climbing over each other, and of course screaming again, despite our rocketing down the runway at speeds in excess of 100mph. And in the background of this cacophony, if you strained to hear it, were the soft-spoken pre-recorded words inviting us all to please remain in our seats with seatbelts fastened until the plane had reached the gate and the fasten seatbelt light had turned off. We taxied for an unbelievable five minutes with everyone standing up, lurching from side to side as the plane turned this way and that, and when the barn door finally did open, it was all I could do to get out of the way of the stampede.

Apparently the luggage is handled by the same folks who compete in the hammer throw, because the luggage of our flight, and I guess all flights, was strewn about the waiting area according to a scheme known only to Muhammad (PBUH), his close friends, and associates. I waded thru the luggage swamp with everyone else, pushing and shoving, for about 10 minutes before I found mine.

But then I stepped outside into a warm and beautiful Syrian evening with an orange sky and a calm breeze, and all the muscles in my neck relaxed at once. I hopped in a taxi and in the space of a 20 minute cab ride, I jotted down these observations, mostly in contrast to my experience in Egypt:

- The car was a Chevy, and from this century without a doubt. Almost all Egyptian cabs are ancient Russian beasts. Syria has a blend of American, Iranian, and Indian cabs.

- The roads are paved and smooth. There are highways and overpasses. With signs. Cars can travel at speeds in excess of 50MPH without risk of imminent death.

- Syria is clean. Compared to Cairo or Alexandria, one could say that the place is gleaming.

- Horns are used only most of the time, or perhaps just very often, instead of all of the time. Horn volume has not been modified to cause pain.

- The air is cleaner, perhaps because so many cars in Syria have mufflers.

- There are stoplights! People observe them!

- Buses look like they are straight from Europe, with digital readouts on the side and bright colors.

- The buildings do not look like they are disintegrating. New constructions are not crumbling.

- Lots of cool looking shops, restaurants.

- People in the streets look lively, purposeful, even healthy.

- "Ahlan wa Sahlan" (Welcome) is the go-to phrase here, instead of "Al Hamdu Lillah" (Thanks be to God)

- Far less conservative. Only about 30% of the women wear the hijab, compared to maybe 98% in Alexandria.

Before I knew it, I was settled into my room and immediately started walking the kilometer into the Old City. Damascus is not at all what I remember from when I was here in 1995. I have for years called Damascus the creepiest place I have ever been, with Assad Sr. peering down at me from every lamppost and overhang, and tourist police hassling any locals who would talk to me without having the proper licenses. But Damascus of 2008 is thriving, welcoming, and apparently open for business. The place is packed, with hotels 100% full, restaurants turning tables, and the main Souq al-Hamadiyya brimming with activity.

Wandering through the souq's maze-like warren of alleys and byways, some just three feet wide, remind me of how old things are here. Damascus is sometimes said to have no history, since there has always been Damascus. It's perhaps the oldest continuously inhabited city on Earth. Considering the place has essentially not had a day off in about 7000 years, it is aging well. I found a rooftop restaurant next to the walls of the citadel, and as I watched the moon rise over the Omayyad mosque, I ate my best meal in over six weeks, my now dormant and atrophied taste buds apoplectic from the sudden and unexpected rush of flavor.