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Before we head off on our little week-long break where on our rather full schedule we hope to spend a couple of days in Palmyra before heading to the Euphrates (proper ancient Mesopotamia - I am soooooo excited!) and then up to Aleppo via lake al-Asad, I though I should probably write down the joys this week has provided, because my memory is not what it was. Turning 22 really takes it out of you I can tell you that.

Birthday celebrations continued through onto Monday eve when I brought the amazing birthday cake Emyln bough me into the poetry club where we sporadically stuffed it into our mouths it in between poems. Unfortunately we happened to be right next to the main podium, so we couldn't really perform this task in a subtle British manner, so we were compelled to placate the MC with the offering of a small water pistol. Throughout the evening, whosoever talked would get squirted. Unfortunately, due to the rather inferior nature of the product the pistol did have a tendancy to soak whoever was using the thing rather than the intended victim, so after the water had run out it was wielded more as a threat than a tangible menace.

In a terrifying turn of events it so happened that a true Tennesseean (I hope that's how you spell it) performed some very cool poetry and a country song or two, after which I was put on as the novelty item of the evening, not a little unlike a performing monkey. Of course I felt honour bound to play wagon wheel which is fast becoming the anthem out here and I hope it went down well though I must admit I was too terrified and busy concentrating on rooting myself between one leg up on a chair, the other on the ground and playing the guitar and singing into the microphone without keeling right over to notice. We tried to get an early night, as we did all this week owing to the exam we had on Thursday.

Echoes of Edinburgh were a little too strong for comfort as I found every reason not to revise or learn any vocabulary in anticipation of this woeful ordeal. As Thursday approached I panicked a lot and did very little. The exam itself was fairly difficult and I realised that I really need to knuckle down and actually work out here. It is the vocabulary which is the main problem - so much of the grammar structure one can tend to work out from the context and experience and this would be the same for the words if it wasn't EVERY SINGLE WORD that I look at and do not know the meaning of.

What's worse now is that there is now a musical instrument in my room to distract me even more. It seemed a good idea at the time, but now I fear the oud will prove the ultimate procrastinating tool. I only hope that my enthusiasm will be curbed by shame at my severe lack of expertise and the consideration of my soon to be even more long suffering flat mate whom I imagine has no desire to be roused in the morning, serenaded by day and lulled to sleep at night by some kak-handed amateur who grins inanely whilst playing and is somewhat lacking on the talent side of things. Enthusiam alas can only go so far you know.

In the evening after the exam India and I went round, freshly prepared tabbouleh and warm bread in hand to the flat of some friends and met a wonderous bunch of people and played and sang guitar into the night, or at least until the neighbours complained. Sam is a very talented guitarist and singer whilst Tamsin also has a really lovely voice which we put to good use as we belted out the Rattlin' Bog in dubious three-part harmony. The flat itself is essentially a typical Damascene house with a large courtyard and a wonderfully large roof with mattresses so you can sleep out at night. It is such a pleasant thought that the nights are still mild enough for that to be a possibility. I think if I cannot find anything at souq sarouja for second semester I might try and wangle a room here, the company is simply too good to miss out on. We also met a splendid chap called Abdu who has an Italian family in Bologna and a Syrian family in Aleppo but studies German and speaks fluent English and very kindly offered to show us around Aleppo when we get up there next week. It makes such as difference knowing people in big cities methinks, so I hope we can indeed take advantage of his offer.

Now yesterday I did what I promised myself I would not do and returned once again to the cham centre. It was completely and utterly justified as India needed new headphones and I had resolved to find somewhere that sold balsamic vinegar - oh what a ponce. Whilst we succeed on the headphone front there was alas no balsamic vinegar to be found, so I had to satisfy the impending weight of doom I felt when discovering this fact by purchasing some more squash and some cadbury's chocolate which doesn't taste the same as its English counterpart on account of the anti-melting agent and the fact that it is in fact manufactured in Egypt which is bound to give anything a more unusual flavour. Upon our return we watched all but the final five minutes of American Beauty and then headed off to find the two guys we had met in Lattakia, for they had arrived in Damascus and decided that it would be a good idea to meet up. I hope they were not disappointed.

The night that followed could not be more representative of our life in Damascus; if I could I would bottle that night and sell it off as Essence of Damashq, with an Arabic label and everything. After discovering that there was in fact more than one Art Café just off straight street we went to eat pizza and bumped into some of Sam and Tamsin's flatmates, so we joined a table and ate together with our new friends and Nick and James who I hope were not too bemused. I had a scintillating conversation with Ferencz about Finland, white rodents and particular breed of Damascene mouse before then going to my first ever Middle Eastern night club.

I never thought I would ever be dancing to Latin music to a live band in an old house turned night club (Marmar) in the middle of one of the oldest cities in the world. It was really quite spectacular and I had so much fun. Evidently everyone else did too as the band were forced to repeat several of their songs before finally packing it in for the night. Indeed, we were frustrated that we had arrived so late, as we realised when speaking to people afterwards that we had missed half the music due to our extended pizza-eating experience. We weren't too disappointed though, because knowing this place it'll probably happen again sooner or later in some incarnation or other. Perhaps wherever we find live music next time will have a bigger dance floor…

The music over we decided to head to Abu George for a wee drinkie, though we didn't bet on meeting Hasan, Mitch (the Tennessean) and Karen as I munched on my chocolate waffle with chocolate sauce and ice cream. They came with us, and when Abu George proved too busy at 2 o'clock in the morning we bought beer from the shop opposite and returned to our old haunt the Jewish garden. We also had the unexpected pleasure of bumping into our poet friend Matthew Blome heading the other way and when we reached the garden, we realised we were not alone in our idea. There, centred around a guitar, was a group of people we knew from the poetry club and Stalin playing his unique version of the gypsy kings. Thus we whiled away yet another night in the jewish garden, trying not to get pelleted by the pieces of old carrot someone from one of the nearby houses was throwing at us. Yet again we eventually retired at around 5am and once again I marvelled at our good fortune at the little random circle of acquaintances we have stumbled upon whilst the more fanciful part of my nature secretly relished the somewhat bohemian lifestyle of associating with a multi-national bunch of artists, poets and musicians in such an inspiring setting. It is amusing when being alternative consists of listening to poetry and sitting in a park until the early hours singing songs. I could be in the sixties.

Bird of the week - Eagle = Aghab

Foods of the week - freshly baked flat bread from Qayamariah, birthday cake and tabbouleh, home made!