Thinking about Syria

I see the photos of the terrible devastation of war in Syria and they grip my heart and I cry for those refugees now in Jordan and Lebanon. I have seen those places in another more peaceful time when I learned to love the stark deserts and the impossibly green spaces where water flowed.

More than fifty years ago when I was a teenager in Beirut, I accompanied my father on the trips he took to various archaeological sites in the fertile crescent. He was a classicist and was taking his knowledge on the road to various cities and towns that had been the cradle of civilization.

We would set out in the VW with various maps. It was always an adventure. I was responsible for the slide show and in each town we hired a translator. The venues were packed. (There was little else to do in these towns.) It was hairy getting from place to place, and I worried about my attire. I will always remember the dark shirtwaist dress and the black shawl I sometimes needed to cover my hair and arms.

We would set forth, through the lush Bekaa Valley of Lebanon and soon begin our trek through Syria and on into Iraq. We loved Damascus with its lovely buildings and the amazing maze of the souks- where I bought meters of cloth to take back home for my mom to sew into dresses. I learned to not notice the attention that was paid me for my wild curly blonde hair that kept escaping from my shawl.

We had a gig in Aleppo and enjoyed the town and its lovely leafy main street. Now this place is in ruins.

Lots of times our respite for the nights were sketchy. We were served roasted song birds and sheep testicles. We tried hard to enjoy these things, (my dad threatened me if I would not at least try them!) and the pay off for me was seeing the incredible blue to pink skies as day dimmed over the desert.

I was in all respects a typical teenager and I longed for my boyfriend back in Beirut. But, somehow I knew that these expeditions were part of the adventure of my life.

As we drove through the deserts of Syria and Iraq we saw a number of hills just jutting out of the landscape. My father told me these were called "tels"-ancient hills that covered up towns and cities, now lost to civilization. We saw so many of them! It piqued my imagination. What happened to the inhabitants of these cities? I wanted to get out and dig them up ASAP.

On one trip across the kitty litter desert after nightfall, we ran into a donkey, probably killed it, and it certainly did major damage to our VW. The donkey shepherd appeared out of the night, we paid him off in piasters, and we drove on without a windshield, shards of glass embedded in our clothes (the shirtwaist). The entry point into Iraq was fraught and we had to wait hours as they searched our car and constantly thumbed through our documents. Finally, we returned to Syria and Damascus where we had the possibility of getting the car repaired. A few days later we caught a plane back to Beirut, and eventually the VW was returned to us.

This middle east is so beautiful and amazing. I hate seeing so many places in rubble, so many people killed from the war, refugees,  and I know that so many of the iconic archaeological and natural sites have been ruined for all time. The wonderful people of the middle east deserve more. Our entire world deserves more.

And I do not know what to do about it!