Language in Syria

It did not take me but a few hours in Syria to realize that my Arabic here was going to take me much further than it ever did in Egypt, and that I was going to comprehend more of what was being said to me. The Modern Standard Arabic I learned academically is much closer to Syrian colloquial than it is Egyptian colloquial, in grammar, vocabulary, and pronunciation. And my personal experience suggests that the average Syrian on the street is able to produce educated Arabic much more readily than the average Egyptian, so in a pinch, they can speak like a newscaster to make themselves understood to me. But what has struck me most about the dialect here is the intonations and rhythm. It's difficult to explain in words, but I suppose many English speakers have one accent they like the best (for me it's Edinburgh Scottish or New South Wales Australian) and the one that grates on them (not telling!). For some reason the Damascene dialect sounds to me like someone is singing softly, the tones of the sentence not unlike what I'd hear on the beaches in California. I adopted it instantly.

After a few delightful days in Damascus, I took off for Hama in the northwest, where 70ft-tall wooden waterwheels creak away on the Orontes river. I used Hama as a base to go exploring all the cool ruins and citadels in the area, including Apamea, the ghost-towns of Syrgilla, the citadel of Salah al-Din, and most importantly, the Krak de Chavaliers. I got a driver (Muhammad) and off we went for two days, driving up and over mountain passes, across lush valleys, seemingly volcanic fields, and through tiny towns. Muhammad was relieved that he was not going to spend another two days of his life in a car in total silence with a tourist who spoke no Arabic (since he spoke no other language), and I found his Arabic to be extremely accessible and pleasant, so we got to chatting about all sorts of things, from religion to children to relationships to the local economy. We stopped off at one cafe where he offered me some Iranian beer, insisting it was non-alcoholic. A quick glance at the label on this liter bottle showed a big "3.5%", which is certainly alcoholic beer, if perhaps unsatisfying. Muhammad glanced back at me and allowed as to how, yes, there were traces of alcohol, but it was so small that it didn't count, so it was not forbidden for him to drink. A saying popped into my head: "Never underestimate the power of denial." 

Wherever we would go, I would hop out of the car and make my way to the ticket area. Pretty much all my conversations with Syrian ticket people would go as below. But first you need to know that Nizar Qabbani was a famous Syrian diplomat, thinker, and poet, and is a huge source of pride for people here. As a sweeping generalization, folks in the Middle East know their poets like Americans know Brittany Spears. 

(Translated from Arabic)

Me: Hi there! Good afternoon! How are things?

Ticket Dude: Uh. Welcome! Are you speaking Arabic?

Me: To some extent, yes, I am.

Ticket Dude: There, again, you spoke more Arabic. Where did you learn this?

Me: Arabic? Oh, from books mostly, and from the poems of Nizar Qabbani. 

Ticket Dude: Qabbani!? You...you have heard of him?

Me: Heard of him? Let me recite for you one of my favorites.....

[recital complete with emotional hand waving]

Ticket Dude: Allahu Akbar! What brings you to Syria?

Me: I was studying in Egypt but wanted to see Syria. I am American.

Ticket Dude: American! You are welcome here in Syria! How do you find our country? 

Me: I guess you could say I came for the citadels but stayed for the food and the people. How much is the ticket?

Ticket Dude: No, you are a guest here. Please come in.