Reeling minarets in Aleppo

Under a lovely sun and between the last dozens of cotton-plantations, where people are busy harvesting the crops, we cycle out of the Turkish country that has become so dear to us. At the border with Syria it's not very busy, but it is very warm. Is it possible that this border in the Middle East divides not only two countries but also two climate zones?
After receiving the exit-stamp at the Turkish border we cycle in keen expectation through the rough no man's land to the Syrian border. In a big office we have to fill in a form at the office-window under the sign: 'Foreign visitors'. Luckily a bunch of Syrian truck-drivers help us, otherwise we'd stayed there for two days probably. After filling in the form we have to change money in a backroom, back to the office-window, to another office-window to buy visa stamps, to the cashier who fills in a very important and big book, back to the first office-window where somebody else writes our data in another book (this time in Arab), and then to the office-window where yet another functionary hands over our passports with all the necessary stamps and seals. We've arrived in Syria and are allowed to enter the country!
We survive the luggage-control and cycle into the Middle East. The landscape seems to be dryer and rockier here. The houses are all yellow ochre and light brown, most of them have a surrounding wall in the same colour. All signs are in Arab and we don't have a clue as to their meaning. At a big crossing there's English writing on the signs as well, so we know where to go. Just before the sun sets we arrive in Aleppo, cycling next to elegant flats with milled engravings in the stones. Aleppo is a big town and we have no idea how to find the hotel we plan to stay at. A couple of Syrian men that are standing on the side of the road are prepared to help us, without demanding money. We follow Ahmed in his open van; he drives from hotel to hotel but he chooses the big tourist places where we do not want to go. After some time we find hotel Al Rabei. Ahmed receives a tip from us, for all the kilometres he's lead us through the town.

The same night we wander around the strange town and get lost within thirty minutes, despite the map the hotel owner gave us. We just can't read the Arab signs. With the help of a police motorcyclist we get back on the right track. For a few cents we eat a sandwich falafel with salad, drink fake beer and fruit juice.

Our stay in Aleppo lasts three days, it's a fantastic and pleasant town. Everywhere in town we see Arab bread hanging and lying to cool down. The breads are as big as wagon wheels and taste delicious. Another striking phenomenon are the American fifties big luxurious cars, of which a lot function as taxis nowadays. We stroll for hours through the Armenian quarters and the souqs. The big old souq with herbs, spices and fabric is our favourite. Walking through the narrow covered streets salesmen try to dress us as Bedouin, people condole us with the death Prince Claus of the Netherlands and Allan Aldin and Magid Akkad - two salesmen of silk scarves - invite us in their stand. They are Christians within the big Islamic community and absolutely daft. Allan Aldin is, or pretends to be, gay and has his eye on Peter. He makes absolutely no secret of it, every time I look the other way he's sitting next to Peter and pays him compliments. His brother is straight and constantly tries to come on to me when Peter doesn't pay attention. We laugh until tears run over our cheeks because of their funny humour and the liberality with which they maintain their position within the Islamic community.

At the end of the day we find a little shop, of course owned by Syrian Christians, where alcohol is being sold. The assortment contains, among other things, Syrian vodka that Peter's going to try for a small price. Together with a young Polish guy, who brought an excellent bottle of yellow Zubrowka (popularly called bison piss) from his home country, Peter slowly tries to empty both bottles. After an hour and a half the minarets of the mosque across the street start waving at him. Strange, they never did things like that in Turkey. Peter looks again, real good now, but it's true: they really reel from left to right. In addition, that nice Polish guy doesn't sit still either. Were there two of them or only one? Peter doesn't remember. It doesn't matter, life is beautiful here…
Two hours later his head lies steady on the hard rim of the toilet, eyes closed, beads of sweat on his forehead. Life's not beautiful at all here, it's difficult and tough.

After a day of forced recuperation (mainly for Peter) we walk on top of Aleppo's citadel. Major parts of the fortress have collapsed during the past centuries; people are restoring it now to its old glory, which is an impressive sight. From this high spot we have an excellent vista over the swarming, the yellow cabs, decorated busses in Pakistan style and the yellow-brown houses of the town.
In our hotel we meet Emi, a Japanese woman who's been travelling all over the world the past eight months with her five-year-old son Aran. Aran is a clever and energetic little fellow who taught himself English by talking to foreigners. He is a keen fighter and of course Peter is a perfect victim. We eat our breakfast together and Emi invites us to visit them in Tokyo one day.

With the help of the province-map we found at the tourist information, we cycle towards Qal'at Samaan. The map isn't always right: villages on the map do not exist and we encounter villages that are not on the map. Most signs are in Arab and English, which makes life a lot easier for my own personal guide. The rough Syrian landscape consists of undulating red earth that's covered with rocks and stones.

Borj Haidar is quite a nice place to take a break

The last stretch to Qal'at Samaan climb in long curves. On top of the mountain are the remains of the pillar where the holy Saint Simeon spent many years of his life. He was one of the important religious personalities of the Byzantium period and his ascetic lifestyle was an example for many of his contemporaries. He advocated a very sober lifestyle, monastic life already was too luxurious for him. The contact with people was an obstacle on his way to his ultimate goal: being close to God and detachment of worldly life. He built a pillar to distance himself from the world. The first pillar was about four metres high, Saint Simeon wasn't released from the contact with his fellow human beings. He built a higher one and another still higher. His fourth pillar was the highest: forty metres. He sat on his pillars for a total of 39 years and lived his life according to his religious principles: very sober. After his death in 459 AD a lot of people followed his example. On the exact spot of his pillar a cathedral was build. Now we're walking over and between the remains of this beautiful church and sit on the foundation of his last pillar.
We can't image how it must be to sit on a stone pillar for forty years, inadvertently we think of the Dutch pilesitters. They try to stay on top of a wooden pile for a few days to gain 'eternal' fame in the Guinness Book of World Records. We are definitely more impressed with the endurance of Saint Simeon.

We look upon Saint Simeon's lifestyle with a lot of respect, on the other hand we do have strong doubts whether this is the behaviour God seeks in human beings. Isn't it better and more meaningful to do things with and for people instead of fagging yourself out and do penance in silence and solitude?