Calling All Angels
One of my first stories ever published was in a now-defunct magazine called Travel, Etc. I sent it in as a contest entry and was thrilled to win a suitcase. Ah, yes, the glory days …
I have printed the story below because it still means so much to me. Of all the countries I have ever visited, it is the Syrians I found to be the most welcoming and hospitable. Which is why what is happening there now fills me with such hopeless dread.
At the bottom of the story, I have included a link to the Avaaz petition that will be taken to the international meeting taking place in a few days. Please, take the time to sign the petition. It’s not much, but at the least, our friends in Syria will know we care. The story follows:
The Kindness of Strangers
The women are languid. The steaming marble baths are filled with the scent of lilies lit by the amber glowing candles. I walk past the bathers, past the foggy glass walls, looking, hoping, for the next empty bath. Finally I am led to the last room. I slide back the door and there is the tub. It is chipped, cracked and filled with rocks and sand.
I wake up and remember. I’m on an iron cot in the middle of the Syrian desert. There have been no baths. There will be no baths. We have been traveling on an open truck with nineteen others for just over a month and all I long for is a tub.
London-based tour operator Encounter Overland billed this trip as a great adventure. Nine and a half weeks traveling from London to Cairo. Our big orange truck left London at the end of March roaring across Europe in just over a week. We spent two weeks traveling down the Turkish coast. It is now near the end of April and we have arrived in Syria.
Syria – Aren’t the Syrians supposed to be terrorists? Or at the very least hate Westerners? The women are unknowable in their head-to-toe black drapings. The men all sport red-and-white checked head cloths a la Yasser Arafat. It seems as though I’m looking at National Geographic and have tumbled into one of the magazine’s incredible photos. Turkey had been a huge contrast to Europe but this scene made Turkey look European.
People begin yelling at us as we arrive in our conspicuous truck. Through the cacophony of horns and traffic, we can finally understand what is being said: “Welcome, Syria!” They smile and speak the only English most of them know. We have arrived in a land of gracious hospitality. The people we meet can’t welcome us enough. Everything we had heard regarding the Middle East was wrong.
A few of us wander about trying to find a post office. We hold our little Arabic phrase books firmly in hand and look hopelessly lost. We stop a man and show him the Arabic line that makes sense of what our mangled attempts at the language can not. “Aeynae akrab maektaeb baerid?”
“Aeywae,” he nods, motioning us to follow.
We walk in a direction that we are all quite sure is taking us away from the post office. He stops beside a car that appears abandoned. It is covered in a faded automobile blanket. He gently removes the cloth, folds it in neat squares and ushers all four of us into the car. We drive for about ten minutes over ruined roads. He smiles and nods. We smile and nod. The car stops. We are in front of the post office. Money is refused. Each hand is shaken and he is gone.
I have never met so many kind people in one place. We truly had a grand adventure. I just wish I could have had a bath.
Please click on this link to sign the petition. Thank you.
