Syria

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Rock and Roll

On the road in Western Syria, near Maaloula

Arabs on Motorbikes!

Riding with the ghost into the burning desert

Let's climb that mountain

Mountain roads over Syria, Southwest of Aleppo

Haleb

Aleppo (Haleb) from the top; yellow desert sand on the horizon

All along the watchtower

Also known as the popular execution-tower

Damas, my love

Daily search of your hosts home through the alleys of Damascus

Market

Trading along the highway; some market probably

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One more cup of coffeeIt’s a hot summer day in Damascus. I decide to start early, but Syrian hospitality and friendliness of Omar’s neighbours keep me drinking one last cup, again, one more cup of coffee before I go. Ali, the neigbours boy, and me are making pictures for the photo album, a good bye to the mother, who – as experienced the first time in this country – has no doubt of talking to me openly. It felt like she adopted me from the first day on.

Imagine a Syrian woman, bringing you coffee early in the moring without ever asking, and some hours later, coming back with big plates of salad, just for the traveler who’s hosted by the neigbours’s son. It seems to be the most normal thing in the world.

After a sad good-bye, I’m waiting just seconds to get a ride out of Damascus. A couple going somewhere, me on the back of the pickup. Syria‘s overwhelming countryside passing by, and some rides later I’m back on the road, making my way down to the Damascus-Aleppo highway.

It’s a bit harder to hitchhike on Fridays, because most people might be out in the mosque for the prayer. Only a few taxi drivers are driving around, even minibusses are rare.

Several rides follow: One guy offers me a coffee and let’s me out at a police station, where he talks to the the officers. They want to stop a minibus for me, but after explaining my intention of hitchhiking, they stop a truck for me. Everyone  seems to know everybody, or is it just ordinary friendliness? I’m overwhelmed.

This reminds me about a ride I got some days before by a Syrian army officer just out of Damascus in direction Daraa. After the usual phrases - “Welcome to Syria” – “Yes, Germany; No, not married” we soon talk about the army and the dudes from Disneyland. Sure, Micky Mouse is bad, but he’s sick of the conflict and just wants to live in peace. If he is going to fight, if there my be another senseless conflict? “Definitely”, his answer is. Seconds later, my driver is offering me bonbon’s and gives me a shower with his awful smelling deodorant. Of course, before he has to get off at his ramp, he forces a truck to stop along the highway, talks some Arabic to the driver, and manages me a ride some kilometers further. Shake hands and a fast good-bye! So you might assume that hitchhiking a ride is the most usual thing in Syria. You’re wrong.

Damascus

A lot of drivers did not really understand the idea of hitchhiking, or as I always tried to say, “autostop“. Most of them thought I want to stop a minibus, not getting any idea why the hell a – in their eyes – rich Westerner is standing on that side of the road. 40 degrees above zero, the burning sun on the head, a big backpack; for most people down there in Syria this looked like suicide.

To avoid my soon-to-come dead, they picked me up, of course. Trying to help me, to bring that poor, ignorant guy to the next minibus station. But this guy doesn’t even wants to go there, and even smiles and thanks the driver when he gets out at the next crossing in the middle of nowhere. There we have the dilemma of hitchhiking in Syria.

People often ask me why I’m hitchhiking. Why accepting so much danger (in their eyes) just to get from A to B for free. What I found out talking to many different hitchers, everyone seems to have a slightly different point of view on this. For my part, I’m hitchhiking because then I can see the world from a totally different view. People talk about their knowledge, their ideology, their life. This is the best school of education one can have. But the most important thing is that the people pick me up by their own choice, not because they think that I’m in danger or need help. This seems like cheating to me, getting rides because of some people’s good deed of helping someone that is in need. Of course, when standing at some village in the rain, or at the on-ramp on my way to my University, I’m in need of getting a ride, but that’s not what is happening in Syria.

Many people in Syria help other people in need because they love to, because they are raised like this. Because they believe their god is watching them all the time. Because of a lot of reasons, but not always because they just want to have some company, to talk someone with, to give someone ‘just a ride’ as it might be usual in the Western world I’m coming from. Most times, it’s because they think you need help, because, as said before, they think you might cause suicide sooner or later standing there in the heat.

So what to do then? Not going on with hitchhiking in the Middle East? Better taking the bus, which mostly really costs nothing for a Westerner? A dilemma.

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For my part, I would hitchhike in Syria anytime again. Due to the facts described above one could disadvice this, but how could I have met such kind of diversity of the country’s people in such a short time? I hitchhiked with Palestinian and Iraqi refugees, tribal leaders, army officers, Kurds, Sunni, Alawis, Druze, Christians, etc.,  listened to the hottest Arabic pop music as well as to the latest stuff by religious preachers, met so many friendly police officers that managed me to find a ride, ate grapes together with Syrian soldiers at the controversial border of the Golan Heights which are still occupied by another nation, hitchhiked with rich Syrians as well as poor citizens, heard funny anecdotes about the country and its history as well as horrible things that also happen over there if you differ from the “governments” opinion, and whatelse I already forgot.

In the end, someone will not miss the visit to this – in some ways oppositional – country. And at last I guess that nearly all drivers who took me for just some kilometers up through the whole desert haven’t been disappointed, too. Who knows when those friendly guys will ever have the chance again to cruise around with some German guy that is interested in their country?

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On Tuesday morning, we started off in Ulac, Turkey towards V. Tarnovo, Bulgaria. Hüsseyin walks some meters out of town with us and waits until a car stops to have some smalltalk to the driver. Few cars pass, but all stop. He seems to be well known in town, everybody wants to give him a ride, but they all are not going our way. Anyway, after only 5 minutes of waiting, we get our first ride of the day.

The day before we got off next to a bridge, where a small road goes over to Ulac, a small Turkish village on the European side of Turkey. Hüsseyin just asked the driver to stop on the highway, under a small bridge. There we walked up the bridge and waited for some fifteen minutes to get a ride into town. It’s an empty road, only some farmers hanging out there next to their tomato fields.

This time, we get a ride by a nice guy who drives a kilometer further  to bring us onto the service station. It’s nearly empty, the only other being there is a dog, not very interested in us two hitchhikers. We decide to walk onto the highway and try to get a ride directly along the hard shoulder.

Our tactic while hitchhiking directly is simple: I’m standing some 100m before Mahab, trying to get a ride. She’s behind me with the luggage, because most trucks or cars that stop need at least some 50-100m. It’s annoying to run back to a car with all your luggage on the back, just to find out that he’s going off the next ramp. Two trucks and a van stop, but they all go to Lüleburgaz only. I want a direct ride towards Edirne. Just a few minutes pass when a young Turkish man who’s going towards Edirne, stops. He’s eather phoning all the time or listening to some English rock music. Just forgot the name of the band, but anyway I now know that we’re finally out of Asia, already on the European side of Turkey.

We get off on a service station maybe 4-5 kilometer before the border checkpoint in Kapikule. There we wait along the highway, pissed off by the hundreds of Dutch and German cars filled up with whole generations of familes passing by. Nevertheless a lonely Turkish driver passes by and brings us to the checks. The officers seem to be no problem, and once we pass the Turkish control, a Bulgarian waves us into his car, so we don’t have to walk to the Bulgarian checkpoints.

Seconds later, he stops at the Duty Free Shop. No problem for us, but he wants me to come with him. All right, this is the procedure: They check your passport when you buy cigarettes, and 10 cartons of cigarettes are for sure not the amount someone buys on his own. The guy hides all the cigarettes in his car, which is in fact falling apart on all sides, but he manages it to hide the cigarettes under his 2 big sacks of potatoes. We went on further to Bulgaria without any problems.

He brings us to Harmanli, a small Bulgarian town dominated by the TIR traffic passing by. We manage to hitch a ride with a 7,5t truck going nearly all the way to Stara Zagora. I’m glad we leave that spot, some children already started to stare and walk around our bags. The village where he let’s us wait for nearly half an hour to get another ride, this time with a motorsport freak doing some “race” on the streets with another guy, who’s car also is tuned from top to bottom. He brings us all the way through Stara Zagora, where we fast get a new ride towards Kazanlak. It’s already 6pm, but we manage to get a direct ride to Gabrovo over the Shipka passage. This is the third time I travel over this one, and each time I fear myself to dead when the drivers rush through the corners as it is a formula 1 race. On the way down we see a Turkish truck lying on his side. Somehow the Turkish still can’t manage to pass Shipka without losses.

In Gabrovo we get stuck because my host’s grandmother is not very well, so we’re not going to Pavlikeni today. We manage to meet up with some local kids, which turn out to be amazing hosts.

The next day we only hitch towards Veliko Tarnovo, which are just 40 km. Somehow Gabrovo still is a hell to hitch out for me, and just after some 2,5 hours of waiting we finally get a ride by a fellow hitchhiker towards V. Tarnovo. Same shit as last year, where I also waited more than an hour in Gabrovo. Everywhere else Bulgaria is amazing for hitchhiking, but somehow not here.

Bringing it all back home

Thursday we finally startet the last hitchhiking trip back home to Germany. At 1pm in Veliko Tarnovo we get a ride by a taxi driver all the way towards Sofia. He doesn’t talk any of our languages, so most of the time I enjoy the Bulgarian countryside while Mahab is sleeping in the back.

On the Sofia highway, we have to hitch around the whole town, which could be quite difficult. The road later turns out to be only one-lane in both directions which many trucks along this. The road’s condition is horrible, and hitchhiking along this one is quite dangerous. Don’t worry, and yep luck is on our side, because after no longer than some 5 minutes we get a ride by a Turkish TIR driver, who’s screaming the city of Zagreb as his destination out to us when we enter the truck.

I alway forget the names of my drivers, somehow I can’t remember them. Anyway, he brings us all the way to the border, where we get out and walk over, waiting on the other side to got picked up. As stupid as we are, we make a #1 beginner’s mistake while hitchhiking: We left our bags in the truck. At the exit of the truck controls, we wait for nearly 5 hours until the truck finally appears. He had problems with the officers, obviously he was driving much more than the maximum hours per day allowed. We could have been to Beograd already, but who cars, the young officer at the exit is a good companion, and many plum trees around us serve us with good food. At the end of his shift, the officer also hitchhikes to his hometown. Oh well, of course he gets a ride by the first car he stops ;) Maybe I should wear an uniform while hitchhiking.

We stay the night at the TIR parking at the border in Kalotina (well, on the Serbian side, no idea what was the name of the village). We sleep comfortably in the truck, which had 2 beds and a big seat to fall asleep in. The whole next day we drive all the way through Serbia into Croatia, and later on some 200km before Zagreb. It’s already dark again, and our driver is going to rest for the night when a yellow DHL truck stops. A Turkish driver again, just waiting for a friend and then going on towards Maribor. He has to get the night train there at 3 am, so he’s in a hurry. So are we, and we move our stuff over in his truck, being on the road again seconds later. It’s kind of sad to say goodbye to our further driver, he was driving all the way to Duisburg, but would have been there by Monday night. It was Friday evening we left him. He really enjoyed some companionship during his ride through Europe.

Our new driver is a young guy of 25 years, who seems to be a cleaning maniac. Anyway, at the Croation border into Slovenia, we experience the first problems of our trip. The officers want to bribe him, because he was in the truck with 3 people. Allowed are only two, so of course they want money. One officer is speaking German, but no English or Turkish. Our Turkish friends doesn’t understand anything, so I want to try to figure out what the officers want. But of course, they send me away several times, just to get the money out of our poor Turkish friend. I get pissed off and after some rough words (I’m glad he’s not understand all German swearwords). After some discussion they got the point that I wanted to see the regulations for this, and it takes ages for them to find them. Of course only in Croatian, but anyway it says that we have to pay 40 Euro. Better than the 100 they proposed earlier. I pay them the money and we get off, rushing towards Maribor to get the train.

Ironically, when we enter Slovenia and have all this trouble, I experience the first rain since Hungary, more than 50 days ago. But this rain comes in heavy showers, and we get completely wet. Amazing. Nevertheless, we manage to get into the TIR-train on time. Hitchhiking a train for the first time, and this all the way to Passau !!!

On Saturday around 11 am, we get out near Passau. We leave our friend at the border, starting to make the last kilometers from Bavaria up to Hörstel. Some short rides, the first woman that picks us up on this trip (she has a gun with her, just in case…), a Romanian truck driver and a guy from Aachen, who brings us all the way from Nürnberg to a service station just before Cologne. There we meet a guy from Mazedonia, who brings us up to the A1 to the next service station. He invites us for coffee, and as it is already 3 am we don’t say no. He leaves some minutes later, while we decide to wait inside the station until it’s getting light. Too cold outside, and we’re still running around in shorts.

On Sunday morning, traffic only consists out of old people or families, and it’s hard to get an empty car to hitch with. 2 hours pass until we get a ride to Lichtendorf service station, and from here it’s no more a problem to hitch towards Osnabrück. A nice couple picks us up. The man doesn’t want us to tell his job, he himself describes it as ‘malen und schreiben’. All right, anyway, we get off at  the Lengerich ramp near Tecklenburg. Some meters walking, hitchhiking the countryside towards Ibbenbüren is no problem. A guy picks us up, and we finally get off in near Gravenhorst. Welcome home, 2 days and 23 hours after starting in Veliko Tarnovo, at nearly exactly 12:00, we enter my hometown: Hörstel.

Thanks and Appreciations

At the end of this amazing trip I want to thank all the hundreds of people I met on the way, all my drivers, who have been Germans, Romanians, Polish , American, Hungarians, Bavarian,  Bulgarians, Austrians, Slovaks, Czech, Turkish, Macedonian, Kurdish, Dutch, Syrian, Lebanese, Jordanians, Kuwaitis, Iraqis and Palestinians. An amazing variety of great people!

Special appreciations and big thanks are going out for making the trip possible towards  (in no specific order) Annika, Manuel, Desiree, Pernille, Vlad, Miroslav, Vili, Jambo and the rest of the family, Cetin, the guys from the restaurant at the end of the universe (Afyon), the nice family from Reyhanli, Stefan, Christophe and Pascal, Alex, Pavel and Mira, the four Arabic students from Damas, especially big thanks to Omar and the whole family for a lot of things, Abu Shaab (Achmed), his neighbour Ali and mother for preparing delicious breakfast, Mahab for stalking me for more than two weeks, the Austrian guy from Beirut, the Syrian guy who offered us his house for as long as we wanted, the Syrian Automobile Club, Tom and his wife, Hüseyin for being a great companion, the kids from Gabrovo,  Carina, my parents and all the other people I met along the way and finally: All people of Syria for being so unbelievable friendly to all and everyone. I’ll never forget the endless Welcome to Syria!

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Moin,

Wir sind am Samstag erfolgreich aus Antalya rausgetrampt, und unser 2. Lift war dann auch schon ein Hollaender, der lokal nen Kletterpark mit Kanu, Kajak, Rafting blabdibla Sportskram besitzt. Wunderbar gelegen in den tuerkischen Bergen, und promt wurden wir eingeladen mit der heutigen Gruppe rumzuklettern und Kanu zu fahren. War hammerdufte, abends kam dann auch endlich mal meine Haengematte zum Einsatz. An dem Ort haetten wir locker noch ne Woche bleiben koennen…

Am naechsten morgen sind wir nichtsdestotrotz weitergetrampt. Erster Lift direkt bis Isparta, 70km noerdlich. Dort trafen wir dann Hüsseyin, einen tuerkischen Tramper. Mit ihm ging es dann weiter, und der erste Lift war ein Bus mit 2 Typen, die die ganzen 700 km nach Istanbul hochfuhren. Wunderbar denken wir, nur leider hatten die beiden Bengels, die uns mitgenommen hatten, andere Gedanken als und bloss nach Istanbul zu fahren. Nachdem Mahab denen dann nen deutlichen Korb gegeben hatte wurden wir irgendwo in der Pampa rausgeschmissen.

Ich schreib hier jetzt keinen Aufsatz ueber das scheinbar grosse Sexualproblem der tuerkischen Maenner, aber es ist schon auffallend ueppig, wie Mahab hier – schon recht obzoen – angebaggert wird. Spaeter am abend hielt sogar noch ein Fahrer an und fragte ohne Umschweife direkt, wieviel es denn kosten wuerde. Man man man.

Dank Hüsseyin’s Tramptechnik an den Tollstationen sind wir irgendwann nachts um 1 in Istanbul angekommen. (zu dritt trampen in der Tuerkeii Absolut kein Problem!) Wir wurden von Husseyin eingeladen bei seiner Familie zu uebernachten, die auch mitten in der Nacht nicht davor scheute uns zu bekochen. Sehr tolle Menschen!

Heute sind wir aus Istanbul rausgetrampt in das Dorf von Husseyin, 40km noerdlich von Istanbul irgendwo kurz vor Lüleburgaz. Bis Bulgarien sind es nur noch 150km, dort wird es morgen wohl hingehen. Weiterer Routenverlauf wird wohl Veliko Tarnovo (bzw Pavlikeni) sein, dann Belgrad, und dann so schnell wie geht nach Hause. Eventuell ueber Slowenien/Muenchen oder ueber Tschechien/Dresden, mal sehen. Unsere Zielsetzung ist es Sonntag mittag zuhause zu sein.

Bis dahin, Ralf

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