Can’t remember where I was last time I left you (which just goes to show how befuddled I am these days…) Right now I am midway between Damascus and London, in the cosy world of British Mediterranean Airways. So that means I was in Syria. Luvly hoarding outside Damascus airport advertising men’s underwear, except it was written ‘underweab’ !! Not as good as Rajasthan in India, where there are more ads for bulging men’s underwear than anything else – it begins to get spooky.
Went there from Singapore, with a v quick night in Dubai. Was so knackered that I just slept and then took a taxi back to the airport, so no update this time on the shipping scene there. From the hotel window it looked like it was all happening, with one splendid dhow setting off into the sunset and a little bit (a very little bit) of me wanted to go along too. Perhaps one day I shall do it…
The airport chock full of the last wave of Haji’s, heading home from Saudi to Indonesia. Wearing what seemed to be layers and layers of multi colored robes, they were all in heaps on the floor and generally cluttered the place up something dreadful. Dubai airport has been designed to keep people moving through and does not seem to take into account the fact that flights can be late or people can have long connection times and therefore thousands may be in limbo. There is a always a sort of international flotsam wandering around the place, some of whom look totally lost and confused and may possibly be there for days before being carried off on unknown carriers to ‘stronds afar remote’ – anyone know Henry IV Pt 1? It’s great to try to work out just where some of them come from, let alone where they are going to. Businessmen in suits, with laptop bags and mobile phones are boring – give me a gang of tribal-garbed women, armloads of bangles, gold teeth, carrying an assortment of infants and bright purple plastic buckets and several miscellaneous plastic bags and bundles, squatting on the floor (who needs chairs when you can squat?) and that becomes a challenge. I’ve been known to walk around such little groups and look for telltale tags or just anything that will give a clue as to what the hell they are doing in such an alien environment. I did, once bravely try to look like an ‘official’ as there was a wonderful Pakistani family squatting there and the pater familias had their boarding cards sticking out of his top pocket, so I smiled and gently pulled them up to see their destination. It was Casablanca. I felt someone should write a short story as to why a family of very Paki Pakistanis was going to Morocco?
Spose I’m just nosey by nature, but enquiring minds want to know. I could identify a gang of Sudanese by the tremendous blackness of their skin, coupled with the amazingly bright flowing robes, which they carry with great aplomb. And a very clapped out Sudan Airways 737 landed soon after to whisk them off to Khartoum and I just muttered ” good luck”, as that is a real hell hole. Yes, Caro, it’s probably the same aircraft we flew in all those years ago. And while on old planes, Keith, do u remember how in LHR in our British Eagle days, we used to handle Luxair ? – well wudja believe, in FRA, I think, I saw LX-LGB, one of the F27’s we did loadsheets for some 35+ years ago and it’s STILL FLYING – how many take offs and landing has that poor thing done ? It was quite like meeting an old friend after many many years and I had a dreadful nostalgia attack for being early twenties and Keen and all that sort of stuff. Ah Bisto !
I loved being back in Damascus. One of my favorite cities, as you have Arabic being spoken around you, the locals are wonderfully friendly and in the souks you have lots of great stuff to examine and if you look up, there is a real Roman arch over you, which has been there +/- 2000 years. I saw the hotel I stayed in c1966, traveling with two American girls, who picked me up in Beirut and wanted a male minder for a visit to Syria. That is a whole other story. I made sure I went to the real hamman, or bath, in the souks. The local agents think I am quite crazy going there, but if you want to become so squeaky clean that, just like a new cleaned car, the water just bounces off you. And the trad. ice cream which is unique. I think it must have gum Arabic in it, as it sort of stretches .. the rose water one is just like a frozen rose… make of that what you wish!
The arrival of our aircraft coincided with one from Iran, filled with black robed women off to do a tour of religious sites in Syria. Religious tourism is HUGE in this part of the word. So, standing outside the customs, to welcome my punters, there would be a sea of black and then amazingly under-dressed looking American woman in the middle of them. I would have loved to know what the pious Iranians were thinking .. we look like a sort of geriatric hookers outing, to them. So, they had a whiz around Damascus, including The Street Called Straight, which is actually a narrow part of the souks and not particularly straight. A night in the Damascus Sheraton and they went off next morning for a night in Palmyra, which is just one of the greatest Roman sites anywhere. And that was it for me with them, so they went northeast in a couple of coaches and I went west to London on an A320. And I even persuaded the friendly crew that I was upgradable, so had a much better seat to doze in.
It was good to be in the UK just for a breath of fresh air, daffodils out in the park and the Four Seasons welcomed me back with all their usual grace and friendliness. I am so totally at home there and know all their back doors and march into the sales office and present them with small glittery things from strange places and they think I am the bee’s knees. In return I have a nice bottle of wine and goodies in the room. There is a plethora of small glittery things in strange countries and you just have to keep yr eyes open in the bazaars and remember to pick things up for donating later. The Iran things were just truly dreadful. heart shaped danglies, looking like iced petit fours, with silver or gold balls stuck on in swirls (just like yr mum used to put on cakes if she was into things like that). Then to complete the image, one inch strings of glitter dangling off the rounded corners – truly awful masterpieces of tack I can tell you, but Boy, you bring one of these out of yr pocket and dangle it in front of someone who commutes from Hammersmith to Wl, and their little eyes light up and many oohs come forth. The sales office is beginning to take on a very motley appearance cos of moi
Best thing in London was an outing to the Royal Shakespeare Co. production of Henry V which was just superb. Done in modern dress by a young cast of unknown names to me, it was riveting – luvly to hear real poetry spoke proper. The ‘Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more’ was delivered with such power that most of the audience would have come along quite happily.
Then home, for a whole two weeks. The house still stands. And I got organised for MORE Shakespeare at the end of May, as suddenly the RSC is coming to the Brooklyn Academy of Music (my local big theatre/concert hall, 10 mins walk from home) with Hamlet, which I can always see. It was suddenly advertised in the NY Sunday Times, so I bopped on down on Monday and picked up tix. I’m on their mailing list and had not seen anything about them coming and the guy at the box office said it was all a v last minute thing – BAM had the dates and the cast was free in London, so they are coming over for just five performances- seems an awful upheaval for such a mini run, but I am sure they will be able to sell it out. By going early, I got front row seats, which in the theatre I really like, as I want to see the spit fly and hear every word.
I think we will take a break here as I am now about to go back around the world again. I know, I know .. someone has to do it. First stop, Rarotonga … a prize if you know what country that is in?
timothyvalentinestravels 