Making friends in Syria
We’d been visiting Syria’s outstanding Roman ruins for several days in a row and were ready for a change. My husband and I decided to spend the afternoon wandering the streets in a small town in northern Syria on the Euphrates River. We were hoping to visit the bustling market that had been listed in our itinerary…”nomads, camels, sheep, horses and each tribe wearing their own costume”.
Sounds good, right? It turned out that the tour always stopped at this particular market town on a day when the market wasn’t held. Instead all of the locals were in the mosque for Friday prayers.
The streets of Deir e Zor
John and I wandered the forlorn streets under cloudy skies. A pastry shop clerk noticed us and came onto the sidewalk with a sample of his wares for us to try.
Syrian coffee house
We sat in a coffee shop sipping strong, delicious coffee observing the few hookah smoking patrons.
Then a young man wearing a red checked cowboy shirt approached us and greeted us in perfect English. Ahmad wanted to show us his town and practice his English..
We walked over the Euphrates on the suspension bridge built by the French when Syria was their colony (1927) and wandered past outdoor cafes on the riverside. They were empty now, of course.
I asked Ahmed if there was an old coffee house we could visit. I wasn’t satisfied with the photographic ambiance of the one John and I had found. Apparently, Ahmed, didn’t spend much time coffee houses as I had to suggest one that we had passed. It was old, but not gemutlich. Still, beggars can’t be choosers. The owner came over to talk to us and soon pronounced the sentence that I have come to hate.
“We like the American people, but we hate their government.”
You know, I’ve had enough of that. Why do so many people think it is ok to be insulting to an American? I looked him in the eye and said, “That’s funny! That is the way Americans feel about Syria! We hate their government but like the people.” Mr. Coffeehouse owner was quiet for a moment, then he laughed and shook my hand.
I don’t know what Ahmed thought, but he insisted on buying our coffee despite our protests. And that gesture of hospitality is what I remember most about the Syrian people. I did like them.