Dear diary, I went out today in a large loop that took me through the rocky sands and down into the dry riverbed (called ‘Wadi’ in Arabic) of the valley of the tombs – an ominous set of 2,3, and even up to 5-story tower mausoleums built 2000 years ago. The English couple from Aleppo that I saw again on the streets of Palmyra last night said they found human bones in this valley. I expressed doubts saying “no way they are the bones of Palmyrenes from 2000 years ago – bah, they would’ve disintegrated.” “We are Oxford biologists” they retorted “we know these things.”

The first tombs I wormed my way into contained huge bones, kneecaps 15 cm in diameter – donkey or camel I thought – these English were fools. I went through every tomb along the northwest ridge of the valley and found more of the same. At one of the largest towers which was locked with Iron bars I sat playing with the Beduin guitar (called once again “Rababa”) and watched the drama unfold as a tomboyish Korean girl argued with a Syrian guide about the system at Palmyra that dictates hiring a car to see any of the locked tombs since the ‘key man’ won’t walk. She followed me when I left down the Wadi to explore the valley floor towers and made friends by offering me a tangerine. We went in a tower together up the winding inner stairways and found heaps of human bones, skulls, jawbones – men women – all jumbled together by raiders, later in the underground passages beneath another tower we found a fully mummified arm complete with skin and a clenched hand with fingernail depressions.

he was very innocent and later we got to talking about a man she met in Istanbul who told her he loved her. She doubted this Swiss tour guide’s sincerity and asked me what I thought. She talked as if love is this thing like a bracelet someone was trying to sell her saying it is silver but she worries it is tin.

We ate a great free dinner at my wonderful hotel and a cheap second meal at hers (for only 1 USD). Sun Su’s hotel “Sun” and the owner Mohammed was the ultimate cognizant Syrian man – full of balance and deep logic. Back at my hotel I found my hotel owner (a different Mohammad who drinks Raki at midnight) regaling me with more unbelievable stories showing the moral variance of foreigners from his sum total of two months in business (and this with only a piss trickle of tourists this spoiled low season a la Afghan war). So far he has shared tales of: loud Asian lesbian sex, American Gypsy whoremonger, bus tour driver sent him four horny Aussies to bed in one night (and remember that Mohammad here weighs about 150K and is over 50), Swiss girl maimed by camel, sex change Canadian, foreigners who met in lobby and after only two hours talking cancelled one room and shared a bed, and more I can’t remember now.

A steady stream of nice, honest restauranteurs came for tea and once tonight promised me a free kabob dinner with Mohammad in our rooms tomorrow (to hide from the continual pop-up guests) at 10 PM. All this, in the middle of the web for any free passing foreign fluff, and whole sections of ruin, a desert I have not yet touched – better put my new batteries in the torch!

My thumb spot ached so I had at it with a pin and no mercy after a good squeeze the two week old once centimeter thorn I got in Cappadoccia rose up from my skin like Excalibur from the lake – St George hear my prayers – that I may squeeze all hatred from my soul with the same swift and strong moves.

SONG IDEA:

Go to my lost home,

Put all my stuff in a box

Conga, bike, CDs, toiletries, tent, gas stove and an extra pair of socks

Find me a truck,

Nothin fancy, old feller, grandpa blue

Seal the bed waterproof locking

And here’s what I’m gonna do…

Refrain (TBD)

Make a song naming characteristics of each place NOT the great basin area – encapsulate and dismiss each.