The Seven Thrillers of Wisdom

The hostel is eerily quiet this morning. Stepping outside it, the surrounding streets are eerily quiet too. Then I remember- Saturday morning. Very little happens on Saturday morning. Wandering the fine, large gardens of the city centre, I fend off all the shoe shine boys and take in all the relaxed people moving around at weekend pace. Some take photos, some sit and smoke on the benches, others walk around with a takeaway breakfast. It's a lovely sunny morning after the rain of the previous night.

I'm not in the correct frame of mind for the battling in the Souk today, even if things will start slowly and not ever get up to its normal frenetic pace. I walk on to the newer part of the city to experience what modern day Aleppo has to offer. There, I receive considerable help in posting some long overdue postcards. One man cannot direct me to a post office, so he takes me to a Syrian Airlines office which might sell stamps. It doesn't, so the airlines staff write me a small note detailing an address in Arabic. An old man with a stoop and a walking stick overhears my plight as he hobbles past and he offers to take me their personally. I figure the destination must be near. I figure wrong. We battle our way through busying streets and ruthless traffic, never mentioning a word to one another. We arrive at the post office. The old man ambles off into the distance with my thanks, his part having been played. This post office would be the post office which doesn't sell stamps. Fortunately, an employee leads me to a nearby branch which does. I enjoy a quick chat with a blind postcard seller, write my cards, stick on the stamps, and then walk back to post them at the branch I was just at! Job complete. It turned into a bit of a saga in the end, but a great way to meet new people and experience local help. I could have sworn I heard some "Lord of the Rings" music at one point. The assistance I received today is just how many people are here. If they can understand you, the will surely help you as best they can.

During the post card episode, I received a tip off for the next thing on my list: Live EPL soccer. Following my failure to locate it last time I was here, I had little faith in being successful. Of course, I had been looking in the wrong place previously. Every self respecting fan now knows where to find such things: The Cinema! Cinema street offers a few options. I dodge the dodgy looking films and follow a small stream of youths making their way to one of the smaller screens. Yes! They have football scarves and tops on. I have cracked it. I speedily pay my cover charge to the man loitering outside and we all cram in to a small, dingy looking place. The strong, acrid smell of cigarette smoke pervades everything. The air is thick with it, but at least it masks the almost overpowering smell coming from the attached toilets. Nobody ever said international soccer chasing was ever going to be glamorous, or enjoyable, come to think of it, as disappointment follows. Incidentally Syria is going all European on us now by introducing a smoking ban in public places. Quite how it will work considering it's prevalence throughout all stratas of society is anyone's guess. What for the future of the Nargilha??

The Baron Hotel is but a short trot away from my hostel. It is here that T.E Lawrence frequented when he lived in the region all those years ago. It is a bit dusty looking nowadays, but still manages to retain a certain charm. A fragment of it looks new, but, for the most part, it all gives a feel that this is how things have appeared for decades. The history of the place is very much unavoidable as Lawrence memorabilia, such as a signed hotel bill can be found on the walls. Other signs from the past include original "White Horse" whisky signs and hand crafted paintings detailing days gone by. An old B.A.C.C positioned near the bar reminds me that my flight home is fast approaching. I enjoy a beer, listening to a group of young privileged sounding gap year Brits playing cards at a nearby table. Other than that, the place remains empty until I make my way out, passing some new patrons in the doorway. Everyone talks of Lawrence- Lawrence of Arabia.