Are you Syria?

Syria is not Pakistan. This is something we had to learn first hand, when we arrived in Aleppo and saw women sans burkas actually being seen in public - and conversing with men. Nevertheless, the country has its own set of uber-conservative standards, mostly related to the absurd pleathora of portraits, painting, mosaics, and woven carpets of the image of the "President" (who manages to win every election with 99 percent of the vote.) In essence, the man's image is equal to the flag, and any statement criticizing him will land one in prison, undoubtedly. Hopefully I'm out of that danger just for being a clueless white boy.

In the meantime, though, the strict information control brings something of a relief (and something of an annoyance) as virtually all conversation of politics is barred from the everyday. As the guidebook states, under Al-Assad a few years back, the secret service members were about as numerous as the posters of the man dotting the streets, restaurants, houses... People have learned to politely change the subject when politics emerges as a possibile topic. But, of course, Israel, America, UK, and democracy (yes, democracy) bashing are not only condoned, but outright encouraged in street banners, bus stop posters, and state-run newspaper articles.

So, my idea of how the country is run will have to continue to be based on the all too Saddam Hussein-esque statues dotting the country, and the fist pumps at the mention that we're Americans (along with "F*&k BUSH!") as we wander to within a few kilometers of the border with Iraq (to whom, by and large, most Syrians are adamant in pointing out they are not similar in the slightest. The truth is probably less severe.)

In the meantime, we found a mean falafel stand this morning that made our lives just that much better, combined with fresh fruit juice to turn the constant desert scape of the past few days into something much more bearable. Despite the fact that the Aussie we met today who loves the place listed among its attributes that "if you want to do nothing, there's that. And if you want to do something, that's easy to find too. If you like ruins, you can do that. If you want to sit and smoke Shisha, you can do that. And if you want to get wasted, you can do that." Uh-huh. Problem is, all that stuff falls in the category of "doing nothing."

Nevertheless, the people are hospitable to a would-be astounding extent if we were not fresh out of the Pashto areas of Pakistan. The prospect of excitement in learning more is flickering once again as I come to re-assess my life on less reactionary circumstances as time passes since Tim's death.

I feel almost normal again, and I love this place. That is, everywhere.