Operation: Syria...

On the morning of Saturday, March 26th, 2010, Benjamin Gavel and I woke up at 6:30 a.m. on the dot, ready for the challenge that lay before us. It was go time- we were crossing the border into Syria in a matter of hours.

Crossing the Syrian border is something of a rite of passage for Middle Eastern travelers. It’s a process that is shrouded in mystique and uncertainty (if you can name where the italics portion is taken from, you’ll win a special gift). Although you are officially required to obtain a visa from the Syrian embassy in your home country prior to reaching the border, many travelers have shared tales of successfully acquiring visas at the border. However, though most people we talked to felt we had a fair shake at getting visas at the border, our Lonely Planet guide book, as well the US government, went to great lengths to stress that this option was a significant gamble and nothing was guaranteed.

Nonetheless, Ben and I were determined to get our visas at the border. We’d heard a Syrian visa was only $18 at the border, as opposed to the $130 one would drop if they went through the embassy. This bargain, of course, did not come without a sacrifice: we’d been told to expect to wait for about 5-7 hours to get your visa at the border station. Some waited this long only to be rejected, apparently at the whim of a Syrian customs agent.

Ben and I took every precaution we could think of in order to assure that our chances for getting a visa and crossing were as high as possible. We printed all of our hotel reservations in Syria, as well as ours in Jordan, so they knew we would be out of the country in a few days. We even printed off ferry information from Jordan to Egypt to hide the fact that we were, indeed, proceeding to Israel after Amman, a travel detail that would have surely gotten us denied if it had been revealed. We were even prepared to wait for as long as it would take to get a visa, and had set aside the duration of the day for just that purpose.

So with an emboldened sense of purpose, we grabbed our bags, left the Regis Hotel, and caught a taxi to the Charles Helou transport hub. We arrived in time to catch a 7:30 a.m. bus that’s final destination was Aleppo, forking over 17,000 LL for our tickets.

Our bus headed north, along the Mediterranean coast. The scenic views of the sea from the mountain side roads were stupendous, but Ben and I became more and more concerned with the impending border crossing with every mile traveled. When we reached Tripoli, a mere half hour from the border, our anxiety reached panic levels. Will the bus wait for us if we have to wait 5+ hours? Can we get half our money back? What if the bus takes off with our bags still on board? What if we get completely rejected, where too then, Cyprus? Needless to say, I was feeling a little pessimistic at the time, and was prepared for the worst.

Our first order of business at the border was getting our Lebanese exit visa, a painless process that took all of five minutes. We got back on the bus and drove forward, officially out of Lebanon and into Syria.

At the Syrian customs office, we approached the agent under the “foreign arrivals” sign, not exactly sure what to do next. A big sign displayed on a wall to the left, that read foreigners “must obtain a visa from the Syrian embassy prior to arrival at the border” certainly did help our high levels of anxiety. The officer took our passports looked them over, and told us it would be five hours. He then indicated that we should take a nap to pass the time.

But that was it. No cross-examination or intrusive grilling about the purpose of our visit or where we were going next. No questioning as to why we didn’t already have a visa. The agent took our passports, told us it would be awhile, and that was that. So much for “official” government policy. The bus we’d come on wouldn’t be waiting for us (and its driver refused to even give back some of our money), but that was no longer a concern.

We sat on the floor of the building for a while, people-watching the stream of Arabs that would pour in with each incoming bus. I grew restless after a while and wondered outside. The little border crossing village we were out was a bit of a dump. I entertained myself for a while by mooing loudly at a grazing cow.

At the two and half hour mark, what we thought would be the half-way point of our wait, Ben and I grabbed lunch from a local vender. For 50 Syrian pounds each (about one American dollar), we each had a wrap containing hearty eggs and veggies as well as a delicious chocolate ice cream treat. After four days in Lebanon, one of the more expensive Middle Eastern countries, it was nice to be back in a place where an entire meal was attainable for around a buck.

We returned to our waiting place in the customs office, prepared to wait another two and a half hours or more. But to our delight, a mere half hour after lunch, a customs agent came out from behind the counter, directed us to another office in the facility where we paid our $16 visa fee, and returned to the office where we received our stamp. The total process took about three and half hours, significantly less than we had been expecting. We had also spent a couple less dollars on the fee than we’d been told as well. Boy were we feeling good.

Our next order of business was getting to Aleppo for the night. We couldn’t find any direct routes, but found plenty of minibuses headed to Homs, a town that serves as a major crossroads for inter-Syrian travel. We paid 100 SL (think $2) for one, and settled in for the ride.

The Syrian country side was impressively green and lush. Most of the landscape alternated between tall, rolling hills and open, flat prairies. I’m not sure what I had expected, but this was nice. We got to Homs after about an hour and a half and then quickly caught another 100 SL bus headed for Aleppo.

The bus ride took just under three hours, and I attempted to sleep for most it. I awoke as we made our way into the outskirts of Aleppo. It was dark and rain was coming down hard. We had reservations at a hotel, but at this point we realized we would probably be dropped off at a location we weren't familiar with, in an expansive city of 4 million, on a dark, cold, and wet night.

Normally Ben and I attempt to walk everywhere, but we both came to a consensus that getting a taxi to our hotel was certainly appropriate in this situation. We found a cabdriver and agreed to have him take us to our hotel for 200 SL (four dollars-ish). His friends apparently thought this was a rip-off because the burst out laughing upon our acceptance of this price, but we really didn't care at this point. We got in the taxi, joined by an Austrian guy headed to Turkey, and were on our way.

We got to our hotel, Al-Gawaher, about 20 minutes later, paid the cabbie, and checked in. It was a small place tucked away in an alley, but it certainly had some charm. Our room was triangular shaped and was nice and cozy. Outside our room was an open area with couches and chairs lining the wall and interesting Arabic artwork and trinkets scattered around. The accommodations were similar to those at the Regis Hotel, but the price was better (1,000 SL a night for the room, so about 10 dollars a piece) and the staff was much friendlier, though the lack of free wireless internet was a bit of a drawback.

After leaving our bags in our room, we decided to brave the weather and do a little exploring. We headed out into the street and began to determine our whereabouts, based on the map provided by Lonely Planet. Our first priority was discovering an exchange so we could get some serious Syrian currency, so we consulted our map to find one, and headed off in the what we thought was the correct direction. To no avail. Wherever we went, we just couldn't seem to find anything we were looking for. We'd come to place that were clearly represented on the map, but when we headed up a street we thought would take us one way, it took us somewhere completely else. It was baffling and infuriating, and I was considering ripping up the book.

An hour later, something brought about an epiphany of sorts. We had had our directions screwed up the entire time. What we thought was west was actually north. When we came out of the hotel we had misjudged which way we had turned to get to a central landmark, a giant clock tower, and had based our internal compass on this mistake. After discovering this, things started to click, and we were easily navigating our way around the city (though none of the exchanges were open). I was both relieved and a little embarrassed. I had been moments away from giving up on the guide book's map when in reality it had been my own error (though, to be fair to myself, the map occupies to pages and our hotel is marked right at the crease in between the pages, making it tough to see exactly where it is situated in relation to the places on the other page).

When our wandering had concluded, we returned to the hotel and got headed to bed. It had been an interesting day, marked by moments of high anxiety and sheer terror, followed by relief. We had made it through the Syrian border in record time, and had even gotten ourselves familiar with Aleppo, allowing the next day's exploration to proceed more smoothly. All in all, "Operation: Syria" was a success in my book.