Syria believes in me!?! Awwww...thanks Syria!
Common knowledge about getting into to Syria is that if you don't get a visa in your home country, you don't get into Syria (unless Syria does not have diplomatic representation in your home country, in which case you are unfairly more than welcome to get it at the border). Americans aren't allowed to get visas at the Syrian embassy in Amman, and the ones they issue in the States are valid for only three months.
Well, apparently things are a little more flexible than that...I don't know how often, but we hear that Americans are sometimes granted visas at the border, you just have to wait for a long time for approval while the border faxes a photocopy of your passport to Damascus and someone considers the matter for several hours. A group of maybe ten student from my program went over the Eid weekend two weeks ago, only one of them had a visa, and everyone was eventually allowed in.
I took this to be a great sign. I was supposed to try with several people, including the one who has a visa and had been over Eid, so she would know what to do. But everyone changed their minds!!! They tried to convince me to wait till next week, but I just could not handle spending another weekend bumming around being unproductive in Amman. So I started calling hotels after school got out at one, and after five tries I found one that wasn't booked. Then I went to the bus company street, and the taxi driver pointed to one that went to Damascus, so I went and bought my ticket. I tried to explain to the guy that I was going to have to wait at the border for a longer time than the others on the bus, and were there any other buses in the evening after my bus leaves? He didn't understand, telling me the bus would wait for me, so I just got on hoping maybe there would be taxis at the border, though my friend had told me that it wasn't really like that, everyone goes straight through. I figured maybe the guards would be able to call me one if it came down to that, but for some reason I just wasn't that concerned. It was definitely the first time I ever attempted to gain access to a country with so little awareness of how to do it.
The bus was wonderful, no one sitting in the seat next to me, my discman was working consistently for the first time since buying it, there was a nice Czech couple sitting by me... My favorite part was the sign as we left the city limits of Amman. It said:
Good Bye ,
From Amman
It is about hour and a half or so to the border, where we all got out first to pay our departure tax ($6.50, which would be really frustrating to have paid if I didn't get in), then to peruse the duty free store, then finally to the Syrian arrival hall....
a great place to spend some time
The were two windows for non-Arabs, "Line for the Foreigners" and "Private for the Diplomats." I was delighted that there was no one working at the foreigner window, so we got to be diplomats! I felt considerably less special when I got to the window. I hand him my passport, and all of a sudden it seemed like it would have been smart to have a prepared a better speech than "Umm...I'm sorry, I don't have a visa..." He flips through it, and gives the universal "what the hell am I supposed to do with this?" look. And says "Visa from embassy! No visa here!" The Czechs are behind me, and I can feel their pity seeping into my back. I just start babbling, about how I've been outside of America for more than three months, and I was told I couldn't get a visa at the Amman embassy, and that my friends got visas here two weeks ago, so I thought it was okay now, and I even brought a copy of my passport because I heard that maybe they'd like to fax it somewhere???
He gives me a rather hateful glare, takes all my document stuff, and points to the seats against the wall. I'm not really sure whether he's going to give me any more instruction, or if the waiting began then, so after a couple minutes I go to get my bag from under the bus, and the sweet bus man didn't understand (English or my situation as I attempted to explain it in Arabic), so he followed me in and talked to the border man and I managed to understand from him that I wait till seven, then probably get visa. It was a bit before 5:30 then, so I was feeling quite lucky. I sat in my chair, listened to music, or the groups of men who would periodically stand near me and try to make guesses at my nationality. I was too apprehensive to read anything, so I entertained myself by examining the enormous visa price chart posted above the foreigner lines.
This is a really fuzzy picture I took because I didn't think it would help my case if they saw me taking photos in this area, but you get a peek at some of the better features! Each country have two prices, listed to the left of the name, one fore single-entry, the other for multiple. A lot of states had the same prices for either, including the US and a lot of European states. The average price ran from 10-28$, but holy cow, look at Democratic Kongo!! $200/252!!! (I hear they're not big on democracy in this part of the world, maybe that's why...) In the right corner you can perhaps get a glimpse of the FREE boxes, only four states have this privilege: Malaysia, Makedonija, Korea North, and Yugoslavia. Interesting, given that I'm fairly sure Yugoslavia isn't around anymore!!! Nigeria was the next cheapest, at $4/4, while the US ($16/16) was cheaper than many of the European countries, much to the shock of the Europeans I was chatting with in line, hahaha.
My favorite misspellings from the board include Bologni, which I was puzzled by for some time until I sounded out the Arabic: Bulunia, changed the B to a P, and realized it was Poland!!! I admit, I was entranced by the board. I must have looked a bit crazed, because I couldn't help giggling everytime I saw a funny spelling.
At 7:15 I went up to the counter to check on things, luckily it was a new guy, and he was far friendlier, he told me they still hadn't gotten a fax yet, so I went back to my seat, and sat... I had a Jordan Times (the English daily) with me, so I started in on a sudoku, then the word scramble, then the scrabble, then another sudoku... Then around 8:30 a group of older, filthy men with big smiles exposing their horrifying teeth gathered around me. The main one was from Syria, and he wouldn't stop talking to me even after I had stopped attempting to conversate with his difficult Arabic and continued to repeat, "ma bafham, asifa." (I don't understand, sorry.) Then he and his buddies kept asking how I was going to get to Damascus (something I was beginning to worry about myself), and who I was going to stay with, and why don't I just take their bus? I had a distinct impression that the "bus" may just be a big dirty van filled with big dirty men, so I just kept repeating "La, shukran, ma bafham." (No, thank you, I don't understand.) Oh, they were creepy!
At this point I did have a bit of a crisis in confidence, and started to think maybe it was a bad plan to try it all by myself, but at the same time, I would have felt so guilty at making my friend come then have her waiting around when she would have have able to go straight through with her visa. After nine I started making little bargains with myself, like, okay, at 9:30, I'm just going to go up there and say I give up, and ask how to get back to Jordan! Secretly hoping that they would feel bad for me and grant me the visa. Then at 9:20 I changed it to 9:45, and at 9:24, the guard calls me to come over, and all the old men around who knew how long I'd been there cheered a little. I still don't understand why so many old arabs were made to wait for long times, but I would still get the prize for that day, if such a prize were awarded
I walked up to the counter, and looked at the two guys questioningly. "Yes" they say, very seriously. "Yes?!?" I respond. Then all smiles break out: "Yes!! Ahlan wa sahlan!! Welcome to Syria!!" I almost started to cry, for like the fifth time that afternoon. But it wasn't as simple as it appeared. I'll save you the painful details, but it took another half hour of going from building to building, doing things wrong, almost paying my 16 dollars twice. I did cry during this awful saga, but it was okay, cause I got a visa!!!! Finally I'd gotten everything together, and was back at the "Private for the Diplomats" counter, then guy hands me my passport, and says "welcome to Syria" again. I stand there, unsure, and ask "what do I do now?" He grins, "go to Damascus!" All I can do is sort of whimper, "how...?"
He stands up, tells me its okay, then goes to the first guy at one of the arab counter, says something, points to me standing dumbly in the middle of the hall, and this guy (about thirty, really well dressed), walks up to me and says, "Damascus?" I nod, "na'am" (yes). "Passport, finish?" "Na'am..." "Okay, this way." I follow him out to his super fancy car, in which his friend and him were going home to Damascus in from Aqaba (Jordan's Red Sea party town). They push aside their laptops and briefcases and deposit me in the back seat.
The driver spoke a little English, but his friend didn't at all. While we waited for the driver to deal with some passport stuff, I sat, feeling so wretchedly awkward, and asked the friend in Arabic if he was Syrian, and what he had been doing in Jordan. He was all shocked I spoke Arabic, then we all chatted, turns out they are engineers in Abu Dhabi, and are home for vacation. We cruised down the freeway listening to fantastic Arabic music and I nearly hyperventilated with happiness. I had no clue how similar Syrian 'ammiya (colloquial arabic) was to Jordanian, and they taught me several Syrian words and phrases, which proved to be really helpful, because I ended up having more trouble than I expected asking things in Jordanian and not being understood. It is so hard to get out of the habit of saying things in Jordanian even when I now the standard Arabic for it.
From the border it is a bit over an hour drive, and they dropped me off at a taxi who claimed to know my hotel. Well, he had misunderstood "french tower" and took me to the Hotel Brazil. It was around midnight, and the driver wouldn't even look at me when I said this isn't the hotel. Immensely discouraged, I went up into the Hotel Brazil and asked if they knew where the Hotel French Tower, "Burj Faransi" was. They didn't, nor did they speak English, but they were so amazingly helpful, gave me water, started making phone calls. I had the number in my Lonely Planet, but they insisted on making their own calls, so I ended up speaking on the phone to man at the French Palace Hotel. I don't know this, and I tell him my name, and he says he doesn't have a reservation for me, and they are booked (as is the Hotel Brazil, by the way). But then I discover that it is the wrong hotel, so I dictate the number from my guide and finally get a hold of the French Tower, who luckily didn't give away my room. He then tells the Brazil guy directions to give a taxi driver, and the other Brazil guy walks me outside and gets a taxi for me.
I'm like, now there is no way things can go wrong! The driver drops me off at a hotel, I go inside, surprised at how nice it is, and tell the receptionist my name. He is totally bewildered and goes, "Yeah, I just talked to you, this is the French Palace, not French Tower!" I was just dumbfounded, and about burst into to tears, but then he tells me the French Tower is very close, across the street and up a few blocks, the dot he drew made it appear that it was right by the circle up the street, so I set out confidently.
I examine every single building on the way to the circle...nothing. I sit down on the sidewalk and wonder why the hell I ever thought I was should come here by myself. Then I start to meander the side streets, and come upon some sort of police hut, and ask him about the Burj Faransi. He knows it, and gives me directions in Arabic that I totally understand! I head down the side street he directed me to, and there are no hotels, it is all residences. I walk as far back as I had come, and happen upon a gaggle of teenage boys, who I ask, not expecting them to actually know. They discuss amongst themselves, then one of them gestures me to follow him, and actually walks me all the way back to the main street, while holding my hand, lol. It felt so hilarious. Right around the corner, after the "nightclub" was a bellboy waiting for me in front of the hotel , which I had walked right past because there was NO SIGN WHATSOEVER. As we go to the elevator, a random old man walks by and exclaims "oh it's you! I saw you before, but I didn't know it was you!" Thanks, that's really comforting.
When I got off the elevator the receptionist puts his hands up and goes "What?! What happened?!" I felt like some sort of disaster child. The he got me tea and vodka and fresh orange juice and gave me a discount for my room, which was awesome, because my guidebook was three years old and the price listed is more than ten dollars cheaper than the current price. I met a disgruntled gentleman as I checked out who commented to me in the elevator that it was pretty expensive here, huh? He asked me how much I payed per night, and I sort of mumbled something, then he volunteered that he had paid $38 for a night!! I paid $25 :).
So there, I got into Syria without having a visa previously. I'm not sure I recommend this route, but I did have a lot of fun that day despite my struggles.
We've both hung out in Wadi Rum!!! Though he was leading a revolt and I joyriding in the back of a pick-up, that's okay.
This was our first group trip (late September), a weekend spent in the spectacular desert of Wadi Rum and the ruins of Petra, both in the south of Jordan, about a three and a half hour drive from Amman. Our first activity was to take a long ride around. It was AWESOME. I think just about everyone in the program has liked Wadi Rum the most out of everywhere we've been.
Kathleen got a call from her host Mom while we were riding about; it was hilarious to watch her talk on her cell phone in the middle of absolutely nowhere.
Aren't Lauren's colors fantastic?
There were some pretty rad land bridges.
Ha! Shadows! That's me, Kathleen, Kristin, Lauren, and Tina.
Kathleen and Kristin ran down then sand hill, then instead of walking around it, which they could easily have done, they proceeded to climb back up...it wasn't easy.
This is Oday, our program director's son. He really may be the cutest child ever.
Camels!!! I love camels. These were probably the first I'd ever seen without saddles and clothes and stuff.
Okay, you can't see it at this size, but if you look at the big picture, you can see little carvings of camels in the rock!
Maybe I shouldn't put this up, but Kathleen asked for a "candid" shot of Lauren and Tina, and Lauren heard "chocolate" shot. As she was eating candy bar, she kindly opened her mouth. LOL.
We stopped for sunset at a big rock good for climbing about on.
Everyone should go to Wadi Rum. Seriously. 
