dispatches from here

Getting around Damascus is a bit of a challange.  Its an easily walkable city, but there are no street signs, no street names, very few traffic lights (which are optional), and I’ve only found one linear, straight street. Unsurprisingly, its called “Straight Street”.  No joke.  It also happens to be where the Apostle Paul was directed to find Saul, according to Acts 9:11-12:

“And the Lord said unto him, Arise, and go into the street which is called Straight, and enquire in the house of Judas for one called Saul, of Tarsus: for, behold, he prayeth, and hath seen in a vision a man named Ananias coming in, and putting his hand on him, that he might receive his sight.”

So options for getting around: walking, taxis, and buses.  Taxis are fast and the metered rates are cheap.  But you rarely pay the metered rate without a fair amount of arguing (which I’ve gotten really good at here).  Usually you’re told “la, moshkeleh” (its broken) or “qadim” (its old).  The price they try to charge is either double the metered rate or half of the smallest bill you have in your wallet, whichever is bigger.  For example, last night’s taxi metered taxi fare was 40 lira (about 90 cents).  I pulled out a 200 lira note and the guy wouldn’t let me out for less than 100 lira. Luckily for him I was running late and didn’t have the time or energy to yell and argue.

Then there are buses.  Tiny, cramped, and without set schedules or routes.  The bus waits until it fills up (should seat 10, usually sets 14-16).  Only the start and end points are set, and for some reason every time it takes a different route.  Each bus has a different price, always cheap but never written anywhere so you have to ask. And to make things more complicated, everyone passes their bus fare forward and yells out how much they are sending and for how many passengers.  Easy when I sit in the back, because all I have to do is pass money forward and say “wahid” (one).  But if the last seat is the one closest the driver and I sit in it…thats when there’s trouble.  Everyone passes money forward to me, yells out how much they’re passing forward and for how many passengers.  I have to keep track of how much from each person, get change from the driver, and redistribute it.  It would be hard enough in English, but in Arabic, when I’m not sure how much the bus ride even costs, its been total, hilarious, chaos.

Adam and I were on the bus a few nights ago when I heard some Assyrian being spoken, about us and I pretended that I didn’t understand so I could eavesdrop.  Two older Assyrian women were looking at us curiously.  I heard one say, “I wonder how they know where they’re going?”, to which the other replied, “I don’t know…Even the Arabs get lost when they come here…”