The day of rest for everything but my pride and hormones. Started things off this morning with a dream of a beautiful and interesting girl persuing me at some small but comfortable future home near to nature – woke up with a wonderful feeling of reassurance in my breast.

Could be that the mental excitement leading to this dream finds root in the hotel man opening the window of the dorm (where I took sleepy refuge from the stove oil smoke explosion downstairs) and pointing to two windows on the next building saying “ the Russian cabaret girls sleep there and just strut around topless in their rooms every time – I see them everytime!!” just as I was getting into bed.

Woke, breif yoga, shower, breakfast of eggs in cramped & dirty 1 by 2 meter guest kitchen, and out the door as the Church bells started clanging. Visited Armenian Orthodox, Orthodox, Catholic, Syrian Christian, Roman Catholic church services for 15-20 minutes each during morning services. All congregations 80% empty – the following things struck me:

- The “peace be with you” handshake apppeared to be considered more magical then I have before seen and the handshake was streamlined to the preist touching the hands of the acolytes and them in turn walking quickly down the aisle extending their clasped hands in front of them to be touched by the parishoners sitting adjacent to the aisle who in turn passed the power down their aisle with actual handshakes.
- At one moment I thought “to me at thiis moment Syrian choir girls and Russian cabaret girls are the same” – bring it on.

Picked up my new glasses from the shop and checked email. My sister Darya read all of my dire business-related question riddled emails and responded with a note asking me to tell her nice travelouge info about where I am. Maybe she is on some strong medication? OR she has grown suspicious via my numerous hints and may be on to me being in Syria (instead of “far far South Turkey” as I told all the family).

If any of them was THAT interested in following my journey they would know that “far far South Turkey, three hours South-East of Antakya” can only mean Syria. Anyway, her empty response left me feeling morally OK with ditching Aleppo (and ceasing to shop for arabesque shower curtain material for her) and shooting down deep into the desert oasis of Palmyra tomorrow Enshahallah!

At the 4:30 gunshot and crackling call to prayer bursting from the loudspeakers every moslem person looked releived, anyone standing in line to buy food in the last minute frenzy stuffs something into his mouth and shop owners hand out small samples or sweets to each customer for free. It is ramadan, and from before sunrise until sunset at 4:30 there is no food or water/cigarettes/sex (at least not in public).

It is amazing to be in Aleppo during Ramadan and watch everyone from 3 PM onward run around like madmen trying to buy food for dinner, trying to rush home: pushing, shoving, tempers short. At 4:30 all the loudspeakers carpeting the city skyline crackle to life in a cacophony of “God is greater.” All the tension in the people stuggling to do the impossible at 4:15 PM, run down to the souk (the street market), buy a bag of hummos or some missing bread and make it back home in time. You can almost see that tension drop out of them when the cannon shots go off outside Bab Antakya, shuddering the air with heavy thuds. They realize that they have not made it but rejoice anyway with their neighbors and shopkeeper in the sweet pain of shared suffering.

On this day I was in the Christian area and around the time of the 4:30 cannons I stumbled into a Catholic church center gearing up for a party. Not able to communicate with me the boys there summoned a group of three charming ladies (1.5 of which were knockouts). The party was in another location they said and I was not invited.

Back at the hotel the rotund Canadian habibi Beata was feeling ill and took me up fully on my offer to help by sending me out with a list of errands to do as long as my arm. In fulfilling one of these I got directions from a beautiful Christain girl working in a photo shop. The Aleppan classic beauty seems to repeat these same features: olive skin, dramatic eyebrows above slightly almond shaped eyes, and black or dark brown hair in near curls framing small facial features. I can only really describe Christians here since the Moslem girls seems rarely to talk to foreign men.

Back at the hotel I had a sucessful Arabic language self-study session, let an Aussie man in the lobby wind me up about Dabah, Egypt and how its crystal waters are in high season now and only 15 hours away. Met a nice Iraqi man there also who gave me an tangerine and asked me for America to kill Saddam, read guide books, settled my accounts with the hotel man Osama, changed $, watched BBC world here I am with hot mint tea in hand as I write this. Yallah! (that means ‘Let’s go!”).


Some interesting store awnings I noticed in Aleppo:

Fag Autoparts
Slimy Snacks
Pussy Flowers