Encounters of the third kind

After our visit of the ruins of the pillar saint we start looking for a place to spend the night. At the ruins we encounter people from Puerto Rico who ask us thousands of questions about our journey, film us, take our pictures and tell us that they will show the film on Puerto Rican television. We'll see…
In the village of Deir Seman we meet Said Mohammad who invites us at his home. He lives in a back alley with his wife, mother, two sons and four daughters. The house consists of four buildings, situated around a little courtyard. He works as a guard in a hospital in Aleppo. We feel very honoured to be invited in his home, but soon doubts about his intention start to surface. In the chamber of the man of the house we sit/lie on a pile of cushions while the three of us are being served by the children that are snapped at all the time by Said. Said moves closer and closer to me and the conversation moves from life in general to sex and women far too often for my taste. We don't really enjoy this. When I visit the toilet, a dark cabin in the rear of the garden, the ladies of the house pull me into the kitchen. Here we talk, laugh, eat and drink without any tensions. We don't get a lot of sleep that night: it's pouring with rain and Said stays in the same room where we sleep and watches television all the time.

Luckily Said has to go to work very early, so we can have some time with the rest of the family. We thank them for their hospitality and good care and get on our bicycles. According to our information the old stones of Qalb Lozen are on our route today, we decide to skip them though and head for Idleb right away.
We double up with laughter at the bad English translations on the signs we see on the way: "Make light speed, a place full of inhabitants." (although our English isn't perfect either)
Idleb is a middle-sized town and doesn't have a lot to offer to the average tourist, therefore there aren't a lot of facilities. For us it's quite interesting for that reason, because people have an authentic lifestyle here, unlike in the capital cities. Idleb contains two hotels, both of them are in a far too high price range for our budget. We talk to an owner of a soap- and spice shop, Mohamed. He tells us that we can sleep at his uncle's, his house is very big and we're welcome. After last nights experience we'd rather stay in a hotel or guesthouse tonight. Mohamed directs us to the Sporthotel, which is supposed to be very cheap. This hotel is situated at the edge of town and can only be reached over a very muddy track. With shoes completely covered in mud Peter enters the reception, where two very uninterested men tell him the gigantic price they ask to spend the night there. Very strange such a price for a rundown joint like this.

We return to Mohamed and ask him whether his offer is still valid. It is and has even improved in the meantime: he wants to take us to his mom and dad in whose house he still lives. Reluctantly we accept the offer. He closes his shop and leads us through town on his moped. Ten minutes later we arrive in a quarter with new flats. On the second floor we're directed towards Mustapha and Rajaa's well cared for apartment. They live here with their three sons and two daughters. The children are all grown up, but still unmarried so they live at home.

The parents who know absolutely nothing about our arrival welcome us with love, they assign a big bedroom to us and feed us a big meal. They do not want us to leave the next day, assure us that we have to stay at least a couple of nights, preferably a week or just forever. Again the hospitality is not comprehensible for us Dutch people.

Without luggage we cycle to Ebla the next day, a town about thirty kilometres further, that's being excavated. The town was part of a kingdom that dates from the third century before Christ. For the first time our studentcards are not accepted and we do have to pay the full entrance fee.

The excavations, under the management of an Italian archaeologist, are at full speed. The old town is ring-shaped, visible in the landscape as an oval-shaped hill all around us. Within these hills they've dug up temples, tombs, palaces and houses. The local population is hired for the digging and to make stones of clay, straw and cow dung; the same material the town was built of a long time ago.

On our way back to the flat we cycle through the mainstreet and pass by Mohamed in his store. We drink tea and chat. A couple of other shop owners join us. One of them is very interested in us and invites us to his home. Mohamed doesn't like the man's offer and it leads to a heated discussion. We feel quite uncomfortable: we're being treated like some kind of trophy's, everybody wants to have those Europeans in their house. It's not clear to us whether people are interested in us or just want to provoke their neighbour's jealousy. What's clear to us is that we want to stay at the Izdiin-family; we really enjoy their company.
We buy a small gift for the parents and return to the flat. That night we go to bed very late. Rajaa takes me to her sister's house and to Mohamed's fiancée where people are heartwarmingly nice and bestow me with gifts. It's very nice to see how people actually live. Peter has a night out with Mohamed and Abdul, the upstairs neighbour. Mohammed is a good-looking and sympathetic man of 28 years and still a virgin. They go to Ariha, a village in the vicinity of a hill further away, from where you have a beautiful view over the valley and Idleb. The boys interrogate Peter about life in Europe, music, cars, money, women, love and sex. They can't imagine that Western youngsters can actually kiss and have sex before marriage, in Syria that's only possible when you're married. Marrying is only possible when you have enough money to build or buy your own house.
With the upstairs neighbours we talk - in bad English - until the small hours about life in Europe and the Middle East, religion and our journey. Constantly people serve food and drinks, of which only Peter and I take things. The rest thanks very polite all the time. At our wits end Peter decides to offer them from the food and drink as well, to prevent us from being the only ones eating and drinking.

The next day we say goodbye. Father and mother Izdiin fill our panniers with all kinds of nice and delicious things. Tears rolls over our cheeks when we ride out of their street. We leave behind eleven people we only met two days ago, but whom we enclosed in our hearts very firmly. Our down-to-earth Dutch mentality is completely upside down and out of joint. Only a short time ago we received so much hospitality and geniality on the Balkan and in Turkey. Now the same happens with even more love in Syria. People who don't know us. People we don't know. Fantastic people.

Life is extraordinary breathtaking baffling flabbergasting…