So, this fine and rather windy weekend I went out to sing with the choir of random British students and ex-pats to Deir Mar Musa, bout an hour from Damascus. Like a jolly school trip we all met at the cham palace hotel and snacked on sugared almonds and cashews as we trundled off in our green minibus compliments of petro-canada. We arrived excited after a pitstop in the middle of nowhere in a gangster-like exchange of transport and transfer of passengers. Twas quite an amazing experience to trek up the 300 or so steps to the top and marvel at the expansive deserty sandy landscape. It didn't help that one of my friends whom I had persuaded to come was already there and grinning down at my hideously lazy and unfit self toiling upwards with a guitar on my back. I arrived slightly fatigued at the top and had a wee bit of tea before being ushered in for the hour long meditation before the main evening service.

The chapel or church that we were in (along with MANY MANY french tourists and a few syrians) had no chairs and was very much like a mosque in the way that carpets lined the floors and we were all on cushions sitting down. At certain prayers the monks and others were prostrating themselves in prayer that we are more familiar seeing when Muslims pray which was really very interesting indeed. It is very easy to forget how much the byzantine church differed to the western one AND just how much Islam borrowed its customs off the early church. (Even the domes of Byzantine architecture, the Dome of the Rock for example was built by byzantine architects). We interspersed our very classical western songs with the freer drum and harmonium drones of some group songs, led with enthusiasm by father Paulo, the eccentric Italian priest who runs this place with apparently a lot of funding from the Vatican. Its money is well spent. The sense of shared community here is something really special, and inclusiveness for everyone, even non-believers, herectics and the Church of England, heaven forbid. (in fact the only time this really was broken was when some over-zealous woman from Norway said her prayer out loud when people are invited to contribute and uttered only slightly patronising words something like, 'Oh God, please help those who have not found you, and when they do, like lost little sheep, bring them home.' I resented the sheep thing mainly.

Now, I don't know much about this, but by far the most fascinating thing to see (Mirella please research this and tell me EVERYTHING) was that in the morning service when they read from the Bible first they brought it out from around the altar at the front of the church and processed around holding it up and shaking bells as they went. After making a full circle they held the bible up showed it to the left and the to right (or maybe they made the sign of the cross with it) and then put it down to be read from. The similarity to the torah service when you get the torah out and parade it round was really very striking. I almost expected people to lean forward and kiss the bible with their books or scarves.

Anyways we dined rather well on excellent goat's cheese as opposed to manky middle eastern plastic stuff they call cheese, amongst other things, and the next day we had an AMAZING jam session after the service based on the celebration of ahad al jadida (the first sunday after easter, don't know if that's just a big thing in Syria or the catholic church or what, again information required) where it was just a couple of drums being beaten with deborah on the harmonium and many many musical voices interweaving in some really cool harmonies as we improvised over the chant of 'ahad al jadid' and 'halleluja.' After yet more tea the choir had to leave, but I decided to stay with on of my friends and we hiked up the mountains behind the monastery, with a guitar of course, and found a lovely spot to chill in for a few hours. We then nearly got knocked off the mountain as we tried to return due to a rather powerful sandstorm. Prizes for most inappropriate footwear go to me with jesus sandals which have more or less disintegrated due to constant use and resembling more a roman relic than actual shoes.

Well, that is about all that has happened out of the ordinary. Life continues; I am moving homes on sunday hopefully to live in a flat for half the price I was paying before near a souq just outside the old city with a Syrian brother and sister from my farsi course. i am hoping this way to 1)save money 2)improve my arabic by speaking to them all the time and 3)the brother is VERY good and slightly obsessed with farsi. He has offered to help me, and believe me I need all the help I can get.

I think I shall go and get some more sugared almonds. An unhealthy obsession, but i need a vice out here that is not the poor quality syrian excuse for chocolate. A friend who had been back to england brought me some green and blacks (the founder is apparently syrian, but then EVERYTHING good here MUST be Syrian) and that disappeared shamefully quickly. Self restraint is something i still haveny learnt.