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Dead cats, waterwheels and Krak in the rain

I know, doesn't it all sound so much fun? Unfortunately, fate compelled us to put off this trip for far too long, but finally we did it - a pleasant half day in Hama followed by two castles and back to Damascus in perfect time for university. What exemplary students we are.

So, we set off bright and early (but not too bright and early) and bussed it from Damascus the three hours or so up to Hama. We were only slightly concerned at the presence of rain, naively assuming that it was that special sort that only falls on other people and never to your own detriment. If only it were true…still, we found our way into Hama and to a bed easily enough, helped out greatly by the lovely manager of the Cairo hotel. He started out by showing us a very pleasant room for 450 SYP each per night. This was a little out of our price range, so he took us to another marginally less agreeable room for 350 SYP. This was still a tad steep, so for 175SYP we slept on the roof of the hotel with extra blankets and a wonderful view of the stormy sky and then the sunrise in the morning. We also got an earful of the dawn call to prayer, but then it is important to always remember the omniscient presence of an all-powerful god. I'd just prefer to be reminded of it when I am not sleeping. But that was yet to come.

Because we arrived on a Friday, very little was open, however much was damp. India and I had the worst falafel wrap I have ever half eaten. Fortunately we hadn't been that hungry, having consumed a pain au chocolat and a fruit pastry each on the bus up. It was still disappointing to bite into a vastly inferior sandwich, having anticipated the crisp and flavoursome delights of falafel not dissimilar to the very ones they had been feeding you fresh from the pan whilst you were waiting for them to prepare your lunch. Alas it was not to be, my only compensation being the freshly squeezed orange juice - you canny go too far wrong there.

The waterwheels, or norias in Arabic, are surprisingly large and strangely refined in the way I'd imagine an ent to be from lord of the rings, and they were made all the more picturesque by the rain still reflecting the sun around them, the still semi-stormy clouds and the beautiful late afternoon light. There were very few people around, so India and I spent the afternoon walking from waterwheel to waterwheel, taking photos and taking in the peace and quiet along the river. As the day wore on, we arrived at an old bridge with a mosque at the end of it and I spent far too much time trying to take a photo of the birds circling the minaret in the sunset whilst not stepping on the dead cat that seemed to have chosen a rather inconvenient place in which to expire. Unfortunately we had arrived too late in the year to see the wheels turning, but they were impressive enough even without it. We headed back towards our hotel and then quenched India's need for coffee (she has apparently re-addicted herself) in an establishment serving the local speciality that tastes a little like how I imagine raw chicken to be, perhaps a little more grainy, filled with sweet creamy custardy stuff. Twas strange, but edible methinks.

We met the boys as soon as they got into the town and took them to a restaurant with good views of a couple of the lit waterwheels and there we stayed for several hours eating, chatting and enjoying the view. On our way back to the hotel we went via the old town of Hama not blown up by the Syrian government in the 1982 to eliminate the presence of the Muslim Brotherhood in Syria. It was really lovely, like al-Jdeida in Aleppo and very sad to think of all the buildings and the history that must have been lost.

The next morning after a breakfast including tureens of apricot jam we headed to the old castle of Musyaf. India and I were particularly excited to see this place because it had, in between being a crusader then a mamluk castle, been one of the assassin fortresses. Indeed, the town in the middle of which the castle is situated is one of the few entirely Shi'a communities in Syria. The sky was more or less clear and the journey uneventful as we pulled into Musyaf, only a little surprised that the castle was in the centre of a bustling small town. We had our traditional argument with the curator over obtaining student tickets and then we spent 45 minutes longer than we had told our driver we would exploring the place. He looked only a tad annoyed when we eventually reappeared. He then drove us through absolutely lovely countryside that was tinged with autumnal colours enroute to Krak. It was so wonderful to be out away from any form of urban settlement and a joy to actually see the trees beginning to turn on the hillsides as the sun shone through them. Our driver found us lunch after us complaining of starvation in the from of the tastiest saj-like sandwiches I have ever tasted. In a tiny little shack in the middle of nowhere stood this middle aged woman who rolled out the dough and prepared everything right in front of us on the worksurface and then cooked the food (a bit like a minature calzone) by throwing each one onto the sides of an oven with round sides. Outside the shack sat what I assume was the rest of the family - three girls, the oldest of which was probably about 12, a baby that was being passed round as they took it in turns to keep an eye on it, and an ancient and wizened old lady who had more character in her face than a Shakespeare play. As we waited for our food we sheltered with them under the vines just outside the shack, trying not to get too wet when the heavens decided to open. It was a really special 15 minutes or so and I wished we could have stayed there a little longer. Alas, time ticked on and we arrived at krak 20 minutes or so later with full stomachs and only a little thirsty.

Now, I would like to go back to Krak because, vast and glorious as it was, it was not much fun to explore in the rain, often because all the twisty secret passages were flooded from the downpour. Still, there was a lot to see, even if the view was obscured by misty low hanging storm clouds. I couldn't believe how big the place was - just seeing the size of the stables (we saw two which in total housed at least 500 horses) started to give you an idea of how many people this fortress could have held. The keep itself is surrounded by an intimidating curtain wall with sheer sides and then the keep, with similar steepness walls was separated by a moat which I imagine probably ran the whole way round at one time. It did seem pretty impenetrable to me as we circled the outer wall in the rain (I really need to obtain some waterproof footwear) and then up the steps into the rest of it. I was briefly surprised to find something that looked like a gothic cloister one would find in France before remembering the origin of the crusaders, though it is still interesting how intact it was. We then went into the mosque that had once been a church, dodging the rain and the guides trying to employ themselves all the while. Fortunately the sun decided to shine through for the final 20 minutes or so and India and I watched the sky from the top of the castle as first there emerged two rainbows in succession and shafts of light shine through the clouds as they began to shift away over the hills. It was amazing seeing the sky, half covered in huge blue-grey rain clouds and the other half which was a pale blue, as if it had been exhausted by its excessive output of rain. We were still admiring this view when we caught sight of Emirate and Evelyn (or Barbie and Action Man or indeed just Emlyn and Everitte) trying to get our attention so they could tell us to hurry up as our driver was waiting. So we did Krak, but a little damper than we may have preferred.

The journey thence to Homs and then back to Damascus was uneventful, though it was fun to benefit from being able to read Arabic - one bus company tried to charge us 50 SYP each more than their rival was advertising. When we pointed this out, he looked a little guilty then matched the price. When we still looked reluctant to trust a dodgy looking makeshift ticket booth which was just a table plonked in the middle of the foyer with lots of shards of paper which could have been vital legal documents they were half way through shredding and then dispersing amongst the populace so that their wicked and no doubt callous deeds could never be proven, they then went down to 100 SYP each - two thirds of the original price. We hastily agreed, hopped on the bus and I slept most of the way back to Damascus. I was content as we had achieved quite a bit that day I had been waiting to do since we arrived and I was only slightly concerned that I could no longer feel my ice cold and sodden feet. How I wish I had my doc martens out here.