David Fletcher - A Syria situation

DAVID FLETCHER

H ow can he publish a humorous book based on a trip to Syria? Doesnt he know whats going on there? Is he completely stupid and completely insensitive?

Well, I do know whats going on there as much as anybody does who takes in the news. And no, Im not completely stupid and completely insensitive, but only eager not to censor something that has within it a seed of optimism for that country.

This book was written in 2010, well before there was any real indication of an uprising in Syria and it has not been changed in any way since it was written. As with all my travel books it is therefore a provocative as well as humorous account of an expedition through that country including, inter alia, my personal perspectives on its people and its physical condition. With the benefit of hindsight, some of these perspectives are more than a little distorted. Others, however, are almost prescient. But despite their being sometimes flippant or even cruel, they are also perspectives that ultimately lead to a positive conclusion in that they lead to a recognition of the resilient nature of the Syrian people. Anybody striving to bring an enlightened peace to Syria should therefore not be offended by this book, but only encouraged or even heartened by it.

That is why I am publishing it.

David Fletcher

April 2013

For William Fletcher

Copyright 2013 David Fletcher

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

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I t should have been the Philippines. For the very first time, the Nature-seeker guys were running a tour there. It was to be an expedition to that steamy archipelago on the other side of the world, encompassing not just the conventional flora and fauna stuff, but also stuff like swimming with whale sharks and a laze on the beach. It had sounded really terrific. But then all those killings hit the news. It seemed that the Philippines, not the most boring country at the best of times, was now becoming more interesting than ever. Political murder, especially in its southern realms, was moving from being just a rare and exclusive undertaking to something akin to a mass-participation event where if you were in the wrong mass youd probably be obliged to participate whether you liked it or not. And this severely heightened danger meant that in the whole of this severely diminished isle, there were now just two people who had both the will and the resources to go to that far away place namely Brian and Sandra. Of course, they on their own were never going to constitute a group, and consequently the Philippines odyssey was cancelled, leaving this frustrated duo to find for themselves an alternative destination. Neither had an obvious second choice and both were finding it difficult to make one. Which is why Brian, in an attempt to introduce a little levity into their deliberations, suggested Syria

It was another pioneering expedition by the same organisation, the first time that a Nature-seeker group holiday was being offered to this dangerous country. Nothing less than an excursion into the heart of one of those Axis of Evil type places. And how crazy was that? Especially if one bore in mind that Syria was hardly famous for its wildlife and it was certainly well down any list of normal birding destinations. All in all, it was a ridiculous proposition.

But then Brian began to look at what was on offer a little more closely. There was Syrias history for example; it could quite legitimately lay claim to being the birthplace of civilisation, and was consequently full of all sorts of ruins. And whilst it was certainly not a wildlife hotspot, it did have a number of desert-living birds within its borders and, more significantly, it was on one of the main routes for bird migration. It was almost guaranteed that when the Nature-seeker pioneers were there, so too would be thousands of migrating birds. On top of all this was the prospect of a first-hand view of a country that sees very few tourists of any kind and that has the sort of reputation that just possibly might not be supported by reality. Yes, it was just conceivable that not all of Syria was in league with the devil and that many of its citizens might even be quite normal. So, for all these reasons (and especially for that prospect of an intimate view of an international pariah), what had started out as a bit of a joke very soon turned into a Syria situation. And that situation was now the outskirts of Damascus in a coach. Brian and Sandra, together with thirteen other curious Nature-seekers, were now being driven out of the capital of Syria and into its desert. And with them was their English guide, Chris and three real Syrians! But more of them later. For now it was not the Nature-seekers new companions that had captured Brians attention, but instead their new physical surroundings and the state of these surroundings.

They were on the main route north and east out of the city, a route that not even the most rose-tinted of observers could ever have described as scenic. Of course, the same might be said of any other urban thoroughfare anywhere else in the world. Whether its in London or Lusaka, a metropolitan highway tends to be functional rather than beautiful, or it may well be just plain bloomin ugly. But this one was different. It wasnt just utilitarian and unloved (and it was certainly that), but it was also tired. It was a wide dual-carriageway running between a landscape of buildings, which, if not anodyne or anonymous, were instead drab or dispiriting and everything looked so uncared for. It was as though there was a resignation about the place, as though this is as good as it gets and it could get an awful lot worse. So why bother? Why try? And even the brash new showrooms, in what had now turned into motordealer alley, were no more than two lines of glass n crass, and did little if anything to lift this pervading sense of demoralised decay.

Perhaps Brian was being a little harsh. He often was. But there again, there was more of it: a bit of desultory demolition here and there (but no building), a military compound of some sort, surrounded by a dilapidated wall with dilapidated soldiers in each of its dilapidated watchtowers and then a whole vista of dilapidation. First there was just small-scale stuff, the odd derelict building or abandoned workshop. But then it was on a bigger scale: abandoned tankers and lorries (huge swathes of them), abandoned concrete shuttering, abandoned anything one could think of and then spoil heaps. Covering acres of land at the very outskirts of the city were piles of rubble, row upon row of them. And whether this was for a purpose or whether this was just a matter of convenience (the nearest tipping space available), Brian wasnt able to decide. All he could decide was that it all just added to a terrible air of capitulation, an acceptance that nothing would ever get better. And with no apparent investment going on (other than whatever was needed to sell cheap foreign cars), maybe that air was well justified.