Scenes from the Souk

The main shopping thoroughfare in Damascus is the venerable souk al-Hamidiyya, named after the Ottoman Sultan Abdul Hamid II and forms one of the main entrances to the medieval Old City of Damascus. Under the corrugated iron roof lie rows of shops selling jewellery, clothes, leather bags, Arabic perfume and embroidery competing for the masses of locals and tourists alike who have come to experience and contribute to what is part of the world’s oldest continually inhabited settlement.

The holes in the roof, lasting imprints of bullets fired from machine guns by French fighter jets during the Syrian nationalist revolt of 1925, create the illusion of a star-studded sky during the day, as rays of light pass through and illuminate the expansive souk, dark and sombre but for the loud chattering of the throng of shoppers. Intermittent electricity cuts are an almost daily phenomenon here, and during such times the whole souk will be abuzz with the drone of electricity generator motors coming from the wealthier shops, while the poorer stalls are left stranded in darkness.

The souk becomes a vantage point from which to observe the variety of people who form a parade of humanity along the winding thoroughfare. Young Syrian women wearing incredibly high heels, headscarves neatly tucked into their leather jackets, their male counterparts in rugged tight jeans and slicked hair; Iranian pilgrims covered rather clumsily in their chadors, middle-aged men constantly flicking their prayer beads, reciting the 99 names of God. Gulf Arab women can easily be identified by their abayas, black free-flowing robes concealing the female form, allowing only for subtle – but sufficiently visible – displays of wealth; the Gucci sunglasses, gold and silver bangles and glittering sequins across their abayas. And then there are the freckled-face, red-haired Arabs, a common enough occurrence in the Levant, the Arab region comprising Syria, Lebanon, Palestine and Jordan, but which still provoke bewilderment to the first-time visitor accustomed to the conventional stereotypes of what an Arab looks like.

A familiar sight throughout the souk, even in the biting cold of winter, are shoppers licking the ubiquitous bouzat haleeb, milk-and-rosewater-scented Arabic ice-cream generously topped with pistachios. There’s the slightest whiff of almond essence, and you’re trying to figure out why the ice-cream is rather gummy. And then you realise it’s not the usual sort of ice-cream, and this is not the usual sort of shopping mall.

Shopping in Syria

Let’s ignore the global financial crisis for a while, and pretend we actually have money. The natural reaction is to go on a shopping frenzy. This makes perfect sense, because despite calls from financial advisers and ethicists to cut down on spending or worse, eliminate conspicuous consumption altogether, it’s hard to deny that shopping makes us happy. What do you do after getting fired or finding yourself unemployed for the last 6 months? Go out and buy something of course, if only to avoid the looming depression.

Dubai has often been promoted as the shopping mecca of the Middle East. I find this is only true if you have the salary of the Hiltons or the Beckhams. For the rest of us who can only afford to fantasize about living the glamorous life, the most we can do is window shop. The truth is, when it comes to shopping in Arabia, you’re better off in Syria. Years of being relegated to international pariah status has meant that it has largely escaped the onslaught of giant shopping malls seen everywhere else in the region. Instead, shoppers throng through medieval bazaars spread across labyrinthine alleyways, studded with discrete nooks and corners for the curious consumer intent on an expedition as much as scoring a bargain.

Getting a bargain in Syria is an art in conversation, requiring polite banter, a little bit of deception and mutual respect between buyer and trader. In one of the embroidery shops we bargained our way through a cup of strong Arabic coffee provided by the hospitable owner. Having been accustomed to stationary SALE! signs in Malaysia and Australia, I was initially reticent at having to be an active participant in our mission to get a discount. After a couple of attempts though, you start to get the hang of it and haggling suddenly becomes a thrilling revelation. The shopping mall experience of getting your desired item and handing it over to the cashier for scanning now seems passive and sterile in comparison. I guess it’s a bit like comparing between hunting for food and buying it from the supermarket – the latter is more convenient but oh what joy it is to do it the old fashioned way and chase after your meal.

Having said that, just when I finally gained enough confidence to try to haggle without the help of my mum, none of the traders would even move to give me a discount! So just a tip for all the guys out there, if you intend to shop, always bring a female companion with you. Unfortunately gender discrimination against men is still a widespread problem in bazaars and flea markets across the world, and for now I can only dream of a day when all men can haggle independently without the help of their womenfolk.

Damascus for Munchers

The Old City of Damascus is essentially a tangled network of alleyways criss-crossing and snaking through buildings patched up and conjured through centuries of trade and human settlement. This medieval city feels more like a village that has completely outgrown itself, with no planning or consideration for later, modern inventions such as the private automobile. This makes it the perfect city for the wandering pedestrian, with no cars in sight and all those narrow cobblestone alleyways to get lost in.

The authorities have done a rather remarkable feat naming and putting street signs for the myriad lanes that sew the entire city together, although the sheer number of lanes jutting out from the main thoroughfares renders the effort a token gesture at best, and a lost cause at worst. My Lonely Planet guidebook, in the interest of being thorough, provides a map of the Old City but is smart enough to advise visitors to disregard it, and instead walk straight in and lose yourself amidst the chaos. You’ll eventually find a way out.

The great thing about all that walking is that it works up an appetite, and Syria is a great place for the frugal visitor to hear his stomach grumble. Food is extremely cheap and Syrian food, like most Mediterranean cuisine, is not as confronting as say, the more exotic fare of the East.

It’s hard to pass off a helping of shwarma, the Arabic equivalent to the Turkish kebab, with the addition of gherkins and mayo. However, a full meal will slow my walk and discourage me from further munching, and that’s not cool. No, what I want is something leaning towards a snack, and thankfully there are plenty of stalls specialising in munchies. Most of them can be found in the left alleyway jutting out from the main thoroughfare of Souk al-Hamidiyya, just before the Roman colonnades that form the entrance to the Grand Umayyad Mosque. Here, among shops selling Qurans and touristy keychains and decorative glass beads are stalls selling pies with olive paste stuffing, meat and cheese, as well as the tasty lahmacun, a sort of pizza dish where spicy minced lamb is spread onto a thin dough and sprinkled with a squirt of lemon juice and chili powder.

There are also hole in the wall bakeries scattered throughout the Old City, selling buns which have the most wonderful texture – a delicately crunchy exterior that gives way to a soft centre. There is a croissant whose similarity with the well-known French is only in shape; the Syrian version is more bread than pastry, not at all flaky but much more filling, less decadent, more peasant. Complex carbohydrates are nice, but there’s nothing like a quick hit of sugar to get you going, so I often treated myself to a date bun, a long knotted bread filled with date paste, which is similar to the red bean paste of Asia in both colour and in the subtle flirting between sweet and savoury. The bun is shaped like a Bueno kinder bar, where you can tear off a piece to eat individually, although the expectation of course is to finish the whole thing eventually.

We always ended up buying lots of bread and sesame-topped buns from the bakery, and the breadman (is that what they’re called?), in true Syrian hospitality would offer complimentary pieces of pineapple jam tarts which simply…crumble in your mouth. I was instantly hooked. Is this true Syrian hospitality or a clever marketing ploy? I wasn’t sure.

Note: For a taste of the lahmacun and Arabic-style pies, head over to A1 bakery on Sydney Road Brunswick, where they’re crisped up to order in the traditional oven.

The Sweet Toothed Guide to Damascus

The Middle East’s greatest contribution to the culinary world and global happiness is arguably the baklava, along with its many wonderful variations. These tiny morsels of pleasure, made up of a dense, nutty centre surrounded by flaky phyllo pastry drenched in fragrant syrup, works as a pretty good antidote to ward off afternoon fatigue. Just as your body feels sapped of energy along comes this wonderdrug disguised as food to get you up and going again. I often use it to fight off depression because I very strongly feel that relying on anti-depressant tablets to cure sadness is a bit radical, and I’m a rather moderate person by nature.

Damascus is dotted with shops displaying row upon row of baklava, stacked onto each other to form a sort of pyramid to entice the passing pedestrian. I almost always fail to resist the temptation. The best thing about baklava is that they come in small, manageable pieces, which allows you to sample 3 or 4 or 7 at a time, lending the illusion of excessive consumption when in fact you haven’t eaten that much at all. Contrast this with one of those jumbo cakes in the glass displays of Italian restaurants on Melbourne’s Lygon Street that leaves you totally ashamed of your gluttony once you’ve wiped the last remaining whipped cream off your face.

Another popular destination for the sweet toothed is the venerable Bakdash, an ice-cream parlour with décor stuck in the 70s which has become something of a Damascene institution, and a must-stop for tourists ever since it was included in the Lonely Planet to-do list.

This is one place where you won’t be spoiled for choice because the sole drawcard is the milk-and-rosewater flavoured Arabic ice cream known as bouzat haleeb. It has a distinctly gummy texture, primarily due to the use of mastic gum, an aromatic resin commonly used in the Middle East. For 25 Syrian pounds (1 USD = 48 SYP) you get the equivalent of about 3 overly-generous scoops of Bakdash’s famous ice cream coated in pistachios and redolent of the exotic delights of Syria.

Note: If you’re in Melbourne and curious for a taste of bouzat haleeb, Balha’s dessert shop on Sydney Road Brunswick has a passable version, although the texture is not as gummy and the serving size considerably smaller.

Walls of Syria

Damascus, the capital of Syria, touts itself as “the oldest continually inhabited city in the world”. A mouthful, true, but mind-boggling nonetheless when you are reminded of the many great civilizations that once roamed the land – Arameans, Babylonians, Romans, Umayyads, Mamluks, the Ottomans. Indeed, the whole of Syria simply soaks with history, and no where is this more evident than in its nondescript, quotidian buildings. The triumphs and trials of mankind permeate the crevices of the walls, its exterior stained by the ebb and flow of humanity.

However, it was in Aleppo, Syria’s second largest city, where I was totally fascinated by the facades of its stone walls. The photo above shows the exterior of an apartment building discreetly hidden among the narrow alleyways of the relatively wealthy enclave of al-Jdeidah. The marks and scratches of the wall convey a sense of history that no word can match. These are the walls that mankind built, but time ultimately owns.

Gaza’s Torment

I was in Syria during the onslaught of the Israeli incursion into Gaza. Although Western news agencies were effectively barred by Israel from reporting within the borders, the Arab media were able to receive direct updates through its correspondents living amidst the bombings and shootings. We would watch on the Arabic news channels scenes of distraught families carrying the bloodied bodies of their children and relatives to hospitals that are barely able to cope, followed by angry and impassioned commentaries by the journalists. I don’t speak Arabic but solely from their tone I can imagine the despair and frustration they feel.

The shot above was taken at a demonstration in the centre of Damascus. It was one of the earliest demonstrations held, but by no means the largest. The casual observer would find it difficult, initially, to tell if the demonstrators were expressing rage against the attacking Israelis or shouting impassioned support for the Syrian government. Flags and banners emblazoned with the portrait of the Syrian president Bashar al-Asad were on the hands of many of the participants. Many foreign observers have lamented on how Arab governments use Israel as a distraction, a convenient target for its tightly controlled citizens to let off some steam.

I took this photo without much thought, for I originally wanted to take a picture of the line of Syrian policemen guarding the demonstration, but decided against it for fear of upsetting the stern officers. It is only much later that I realise the striking contrast between the half-covered face of the child and that of the middle-aged woman. Despite having most of his face concealed, the bright spark in the eyes of the child conveys an expression of genuine curiosity. The woman on the other hand, had a resigned, tired look on her face which suggests that most people have suffered enough of the ongoing conflict between the Israelis and the Palestinians.

Syrian Stories

Last January, I had the opportunity of visiting Syria in the midst of winter. Winter in Syria is not as frigid or unpredictable as the European winter, with a fairly steady average of around 10 C during the day. I’ve always enjoyed cooler climes so it was the perfect temperament for me. A must-see in Damascus, the capital and biggest city, is the Old Souk, which still manages to retain the atmosphere of the medieval Arab city.

Syria’s answer to the monolithic, predictable mass of modern shopping malls found in the industrialized world is its winding souks, snaking through discreet laneways and little nooks and corners. At the Spice Souk in Damascus’ Old City, shops display the myriad spices in bulk, contained in metal tins embossed with intricate detail.