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<!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;} @page Section1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> So, equipped with our new shoes India and I went to a storytelling a few days ago. I felt like some sort of biblical or Roman character out of quo vadis with my epically amazing jesus sandals which rubbed only a little bit. It was rather fun purchasing them, as the cobbler who is apparently deaf and lip reads English, though I didn't notice at the time, actually adapted existing sandals to our taste exactly, so now I hope before I leave again I will head back into Damascus old town and buy six more pairs to last. It was simply sublime darling!

The storytelling was fantastic, but tragically incomprehensible. This fact was worsened by the knowledge that the old man reciting the tales was speaking very slowly in Fuhsa and methinks that he and the locals had a few laughs at our expense. Still, I think I will try and make it a regular occasion, I like being laughed at I think.

On Saturday we made an epic (word of the week) journey to Bosra via Samarriyeh bus station and the lax Syrian security. Because of our cluelessness we ended up going through a metal detector and x-ray machine much to the amusement of the guards. Then we were rushed towards one bus that was apparently going to Bosra, missed it, co-erced into another bus, paid more than we had expected and ended up in Dar'aa. We then braved the endless ranks of microbuses to get a service taxi in the stifling heat into Bosra which was at least 25 minutes away. Fortunately, the money we spent on extra travel was saved on the fact that the nice man at the old theatre let us in as students, even with just an Edinburgh matric card and our assurances in our best Arabic that we studied at Gam'aa Damashq.

The theatre was incredibly preserved and withstood my plummy recitations of Shakespeare admirably. The old Roman city, which we visited after lunch, was pretty much deserted and twas astonishing how much of it was just sort of there, untouched and unbothered by any tourist except, apparently, us. It really was vast, though I did feel slightly bad as we climbed the no doubt ancient walls to get a better overall view of the layout. We also ventured into some underground cavey bits in search of scorpions which alas we did not find. We emerged from the old city in some outskirts of modern Bosra and got stared at quite a bit as we wandered round in the heat of the day. But as you will know I do so love the attention of adoring and curious people, and if Syrian boys are intrigued by my rainbow hair wrap then who am I to complain?

The journey back was mildly less hectic than the journey there. We succeeded in commandeering an entire service taxi full of students we knew from Damascus which took us straight back to bab touma, via the Syrian international university of science and technology which had numerous brand new buses parked with military precision, and very possibly in rainbow order, though I did not have quite enough time to investigate. There was also a shop called 9/11 selling I don't quite know what but I hope it was not fertiliser or any form of explosive device. The driver's lack of knowledge of Damascus became woefully apparent and it was with relief that we pointed to signs for bab touma. Alas, we could not give him advice on how to get out again and I sincerely hope that he is not still driving in circles around the city…