state of mind

When I put my hand on the back of my neck I can still feel the Syrian sun. It's red, dry and feverishly hot. Maybe I was sunburnt and that's my only souvenir. I took my camera out just a few times during my nine-days stay in Syria, and that's probably one of my biggest regrets. That and wearing a bohemian dress in the desert of Latakia, which stopped me from climbing on top of my camel. *Yes, there was a camel with my name on it. *Yes, my logic is astounding. 

During my climb to the Citadel of Alepp, where tourists gathered around to look at the locals looking at them, I met this adorable little boy (in a purple t-shirt and cheeky smile) who completely stole my heart. We talked in minimal English and French (I think at some point I was so excited I even said something in Portuguese. some things are better said in Portuguese, you know), which is why I still don't know whether he said he was from France or Ireland. I think he said he was seven. The only piece of knowledge I could pass on to him was that the place we were in was considered to be the oldest, largest castle in the world. His inquisitive eyes seemed to be waiting for more, but I started whistling instead. I figured little boys dig that. He did, because at some point he reached and grabbed my hand while we were climbing the stairs. my heart pretty much melted. 

Damascus is full of people and travelers, and the food is delicious and cheap. I really liked bread rolls with fillings of egg, rice, and olives and onions, and their coffee, in their tiny cups, and the cheap wine and the extra cheap cigarettes. Breakfast was amazing every morning and I really can't begin to describe what I ate every morning because I might break down and cry at its awesomeness. *People that know my love/hate (mostly hate) relationship with food might question this. Maybe I was just happy. There were also these stands by the streets that sold the thickest smoothies, blended from lots of fruit and little milk. They would come in huge, dirty jugs, but no one minded, because they were the yummiest things everyone had ever tasted and almost for no money at all. 

I guess that's it, you can tell these people live on very little, but their hearts are far from small. That's what I loved most about this place. other's happiness became my own and everything seemed to have this sort of ethereal calming effect on me. 

On my last night, we took a bus and went to mount Quasiun, the "lovers mountain" that overlooks the whole city of Damascus. We nestled ourselves on the chairs, under the open air. It was dark and starry. In the distance, the Umayyad Mosque shone discretely, while the lights from the Four Seasons Hotel blanketed everything in a thin layer of golden light. I wanted to freeze time in this ancient red city. I was so far away from all I knew, I began forgetting things. As if life had only begun in this new place. Priorities began to shuffle unconsciously, and the easeness with which I was ready to let it happen captivated me. 

But I couldn't freeze time. The moon soon pushed in and we headed back to the hotel. And then we left. 

And now it's all just a warm memory in my mind. That of a sunburn, but on the heart. I hope dearly it never washes away.