So a hectic past few weeks fraught with tension came to a dramatic and slightly absurd end with the exam today. But what have we been doing for the two interceding weeks?

Upon our triumphant return from Iraq we submitted ourselves to the pain and suffering that is the Arabic bahth. No, that is not a typo. The bahth was the essay that we were supposed to be working on in excessive detail and care, for which I spent countless horrendous hours painstakingly writing and then typing up all my endeavours onto the computer. The all time low methinks was handing into Hamdu our teacher half my essay in handwritten draft so that he could mark it when he then took three days to tell me that he couldn’t read my writing and then forgot to give it back to me on the last weekend before it was due in, meaning that I had to not only complete and correct the second half but also re-translate the entire first half from scratch as he had my only copy. Highlights included finding the phrase for hornet’s nest (which I have now forgotten) and having my now very best friend Bassel transforming a no doubt awful essay into a more than passable one and doing a more than substantial portion of the typing, after of course mocking me for my shocking slowness. Not only this, but he has also worked out how to unload music FROM my ipod. Bizarre, non?

Last Monday was the final Beit Qaseed and it was quite a sending off. Sam and I ended the night playing various folk songs including whisky in the jar and then, not wanting to disappoint the chanting crowd and the ever-inebriated Lokman, but ever aware of the grumpy barman who was trying to cut us off and end the night, we launched into that fine classic, Jolene. We were joined by Lokman which no doubt inspired the immortal re-working of the words of the chorus by Sam, ‘lokman lokman, lokman, lokman, I’m begging of you please don’t steal our show…’ It was a splendiferous eve though twas sad to say goodbye, if only temporarily, to such a quintessentially Syrian institution that has been so instrumental to my time here. I’d come back just for one night there again and all the characters contained within, even that slightly creepy Syrian man who says I have a baby face and grins at me in a stalker sort of way every time I see him.

One of the offshoots of that venerable place is of course the gig. We are cutting it pretty fine I must say, due to Kurdistan expeditions and essay and exam preparation. Still, the rehearsals so far have been going well. I just wish we had more time to weave some more Arabic influences into our set. I was interviewed for a piece on the gig in Damascus’s newest daily newspaper, baladna, and it got me really quite worked up with anticipation both in the positive way and the dread. Och well, we have three days, it’ll be fine and I am very excited. The last rehearsal we went to was in Doulam the trumpet player’s school where he works. At the end, (oh what were they doing?) they left me and Sam packing up with a word to switch all the lights off. We then decided to explore this incredible school, after balancing on chairs to reach the massive switch boxes in the hallways. The place appeared as if the proportions were to cater for giants; everything seemed to double the size it needed to be – the doors, staircase, the ceilings, the vast depictions of the two Assads in pride of place opposite you as you came in. The classrooms seemed more like a stylised stage setting for classrooms rather than classrooms themselves with battered desks, dilapidated chairs, grey graffiti scrawled walls, bars across the windows and dusty, cracked blackboards. It was made all the more eerie in the darkness, the only light coming from the neon signs outside the school. Needless to say, after being spooked by some noises after a while, we departed, closing the creaking gate behind us and relieved our nerves with some excellent ice cream before heading back to the bab.

Ali’s sister and boyfriend were out last week visiting him and much to my amazement, Abbas is in fact in his last year at Christ’s and appeared to know Flo. That is astonishing enough, what it more astonishing is that Flo had told me she was too busy and had no time to come and visit me. I was pained by this revelation that someone else from Christ’s in their final year obviously did have the time to call upon their loved ones in far flung countries. For this slur on my hospitality my sister will be receiving an inferior present this Christmas.

On Saturday I made an amusing foray into the outer areas of Damascus last weekend when I went to Yarmouk in search of a party in a flat near a vegetable market and a falafel stand called falafel al-malik. At 1.30am in the morning. We found several fruit and veg markets and many many falafel stands, but the party eluded us for quite some time, and although I was rather enjoying my time wandering around a little known part of the city, I think perhaps my fellow party seekers were not quite so amused. Even the freshly baked bread that one sympathetic falafel stand donated to our cause was not sufficient remedy. We did find the party eventually, but the memories of walking aimlessly through the night will endure longer methinks. And the fresh bread of course. And the fact that somewhere in Yarmouk are my house keys - such style to lose them in the very last week. My stupidity surpasses my normal levels of idiocy on that one.

I had possibly the most memorable hannukah ever with my good friends that are Sam, Tamsin, Ferencz and all their other housemates. I provided potato latkes and he provided the most unusual and very delicious sugary egg noodly goodness with wine and a makeshift hannukiah with candles stuck with their own wax to the bottom of a dish. All ran pretty smoothly apart from a desperate lack of gas right in the middles of cooking. Other contributions included very deep fried doughnuts from Erin (I have never seen anything more in keeping with the spirit of the festival) and monk cheese from mar musa. It reminded me that India and I never did get out there. Next time perhaps, next time.

Well, I have been putting it off, but now I suppose I must relate to you the farce that was our exam. It was a farce to surpass all farces with impenetrable texts, not enough time and complete surprises, such as a literature section and, the piece de resistance, an oral. This was adding insult to injury after Hamdu had already displayed his incompetence at NOT giving back even unmarked work, then telling us all that we had no oral on more than one occasion. The pass mark is 50% and I honestly do not think I could have possibly obtained even that. A year out may well be in order…

We drowned our sorrows in sugar at a wonderful french café in abu roumana, so much sugar. I am glad I did not know about this place as otherwise I would have spent all my money on tasty pastries and quiches and all my time eating them here. It was a lovely sort of goodbye and celebration of our solidarity in the face of Hamdu. Although I shall not miss the gargantuan waste of time that was in the most part our classes, I shall miss the people who suffered them for three months with me. Our toast was to Hamdu, in his lamentable absence. After recovering from the sugar overdose, that evening Christmas finally caught up with me at the house of Catherine and Jan where the choir has been rehearsing on and off. They were holding a Christmas party in their stunning old town house and requested the presence of the choir to entertain and amuse the masses who were a healthy mixture of ajnabi and damascenes, friends and unknowns from the real working world of Damascus and Petrol Canada. Mulled wine and, to my utter elation, spiced apple juice was served, along with shawarma and mince pies. Alas I missed the mince pies, having already made myself very late indeed with excessive singing for a rather joyous dinner reservation at Naranj, the restaurant frequented by only the best, el presidente himself included amongst them, and of course ajnabi students wanting to forget their studies. I must say the food was highly tasty and well worth the price which was certainly a little higher than all the other restaurants. But you did get included endless supplies of fresh bread, a large fruit and sweet tray for pudding and very good grub indeed. What a splendiferous night!

These past few days have been bittersweet for us all I think. The weather is distinctly chilly (I would go so far as to say British winter weather with grey and wind and general depression in the air), there is no heating in the flat and everything really does feel as if it is coming to an end. Even my phone has died in anticipation of leaving its native Syria and I suppose it’ll get what it wants if it really doesn’t start working…It is painful to have to say goodbye to so many people in such a short space of time, not knowing when exactly you will next see them. The all too recent wake of exams was followed by but a brief moment of freedom when you do not quite know what to do with yourself. For me, there just isn’t enough time at the end for having some space to say proper goodbyes – some people headed back home on the day of the exam. I am now left with under 48 hours to do all my Christmas shopping (and the opening hours of everything seem to be more erratic than ever) and prepare all the music for the gig whilst seeing people as they trickle away one by one. I know I’m not ready to leave, but I don’t want anyone else to go either because I don’t want it to be the end, and musically speaking things are just getting started. Doulama, the trumpeter who is playing with us is the trumpeter in the Latin band I have raved so much about, asked me yesterday to sing in the band, and there is so much potential with the fusion of musicians we have here it seems a real pity to be leaving without having more time to experiment. Tis a tradegy.

Och well, plans for next semester basically involve a trip to Palestine and hopefully doing some volunteer work there before heading back to Damascus for mid-march. I hope I can more or less pick up where I left off with some of the music – it is of course Damascus – but I think it will be very different. But change is good and I cannot wait for this gig and then the excitement of going home and seeing everyone, whilst knowing that you have something to come back out for.