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Aladdin towers, wild west railroads, nibbly fish, chubby men, chasing coaches and cherry kebabs
The train was our chosen form of transport for the next part of our journey to get us to Al-Thaura. It was very quick but very early in the morning and it saw us compelled to rise at the less than civilised hour of 5.30am. On the plus the bus we rode on to get to the station had rainbow interior lights which I thought was a nice touch.
The route the train went took us right along the Euphrates for much of the journey which was really quite pleasant, and one and a half hours later we arrived at non-descript Al-Thaura (meaning revolution for reasons unknown to any of us). The 'station' was literally a platform in the middle of nowhere, but surprisingly there were a couple of taxis hanging about. There was also a strange man who I think was sort of helping/stalking us and followed us into town in his own car, waited as we negotiated a taxi up to Qalat al-Ja'abar (600 from the station) and ate breakfast, then mysteriously re-appeared at the military check point. This was sort of creepy until he came into his own upon our arrival at the castle to find that it was supposed to be closed because it was a public holiday. After many exchanges of the word 'necessary' he fetched a large old-looking key, gave it to India, and after 5 minutes of him hanging around and taking pictures on his phone and a video of us looking extremely awkward in front of him we had the entire castle to ourselves.
The castle is unique in that it was built with mud bricks rather than stones, Mesopotamian style, like a Ziggurat, and the citadel itself covers quite a large area. Apparently there is a whole inside part we didn't get to see, but frankly we were lucky to be in there at all, plus we spent enough time climbing around on the outside to be really concerned by missing the inside. The sun, being rather weak up until then, suddenly strengthened and we could admire the view of the lake's turquoise waters. The two highlights of this visit, none of which I suspect we would have been able to do if there had been anyone else there, were climbing the most dangerous ladder I have even seen to get to the top of the wonky tower that could have come straight out of Aladdin (and it could have done, as this castle was the home for a while to one of Harun al-Rashid's wives) and climbing out onto the abrupt ending of a miniature railway track that just headed straight off the edge of the citadel onto the rocks and water below, not entirely unlike the bit in Zorro at the gold mine right at the end of the epic final fight. The ladder experience I must say was pretty hair-raising because the ladder was in fact just a piece of old train track, so the rungs were spaced out so that I couldny reach the next rung above without a little leap of faith and hoping that the ladder didn't become completely detached from its precarious balancing on the wall at the top, or from its dubious wedging against come other junk at the bottom. The image of me reaching the top and then being unable to get down and being abandoned by my friends and then having to rig up some sort of complex pully system in order to get me supplies until my hair grew Rapunzel-like long enough for me hack it off and then climb down to safety was just one of the only slightly absurd thoughts that flashed through my mind. That and the hilarious and painful sight of the ladder slowly tipping backwards with me clinging onto it occupied me enough to get me up and down, albeit in a sort of improvised way of using the tower wall as well as the ladder.
Our pleasant meanderings were somewhat cut short by an irate man who, in India's and my absence (chilling on the end of the railway track as one does) found the boys and told us to hurry up and get out of the castle about an hour and a half in. To be fair we had spent quite a while there when we weren't supposed to be even let in, so we decided, by way of thank you, to patronise the man's cafe. It was in fact the only café so we didn't really have much choice, but still we would have even if there had been a plethora of cafes to choose from, believe me.
After an aborted attempt to try and find a rowing boat to hire to take us out onto the water, we scrambled down some rock and just swam from the lake's edge a little along the way from the castle and the prying eyes of the café staff. The lake was refreshing, but the sun was in, so refreshing did not take long to turn to cold. Still, we spent a few hours down there eating junk food and lying in the sun when it did eventually emerge and having our feet cleaned by fish. This experience took a bit of getting used to, especially for me as I am one of the most ticklish people I know, but by the end of our time the fish, sometimes five to a foot, had nibbled away at my necrotic-looking feet so that the bottoms of them were clean and smooth and not at all what I was used to. Alas it lasted but a few days, but they were days made all the happier by the fact that my feet were clean for once in their lives.
The journey back involves once again strange chubby stalker man who, probably as we hadn't arrived back to al-Thaura, appeared once again in his car driven by a friend and then asked whether we wanted a lift back. We agreed rather joyfully as the last thing we really wanted to do then was to call and negotiate another extortionate taxi ride. However, when he manoeuvred India into the front seat after which he got in and put his podgy arm around her and leaned quite close into her, I was ready to contemplate it. All I could do from the back was frequently ask India whether she was all right and watch where his hands went very closely indeed, with my water bottle at the ready to slap anything out of order.
Upon our arrival back at Al-Thaura our car managed to chase down the bus to Aleppo and stop it long enough for us to board it and pay. We had long considered since his re-emergence a tip for chubby stalker man, but after the incident in the car we thought better of it. We had for once a cheap day where we got things for free instead of paying through the nose for them and didn't feel bad about taking what we were offered. I only hope, though India got the worst deal, that she didn't mind her less than enviable role in it all…
I was a little groggy upon our arrival to Aleppo, but fortunately we already knew where we were going to stay as we had received news from Sam that he was in town and wasn't too opposed to the idea of seeing our beautiful faces for a while. Once again we were called upon to give to the transport police more pointless personal information (what are they ACTUALLY going to do with the names of our parents? What would they ACTUALLY do if I were to put my mother's name down as Golda Chava Meir Long Live Israel Rosenburg and my father as Benjamin Netanyahu?) and then in front of them all we refused the taxi driver whom they had got in to give us a lift into town because he offered 200 not on the meter. Now, this happened at Deir az-Zur and it happened here and it vexes me greatly. Why do people in positions of responsibility think it is all right to try and cheat tourists (and poor tourists at that) out of taxi money and perpetuate the idea that taxis never use the meter and that they are doing us a favour by finding us a driver when they are in abundance everywhere? As we did in Deir az-Zur we walked out and found our own taxi driver, with a meter, and travelled into town for half the price the policemen's friend had offered.
Fortunately for us all I had recovered from my fatigue enough to spot our hotel's sign from a distance just as the taxi driver's resolve was fading. He knew where bab al-faraj was to be sure, but I cannot blame him for not knowing the exact location of our hotel as there seem to be so many of them. Upon our arrival we were shown the nicest room by far we so far had stayed in and negotiated a price of 300 each per night. Expensive, but not overly so I believe. Funduq al-Andalus is a slightly odd but most fine establishment, only made odd by the characters that dwell within it. More on that later.
Sam was in fine form and led us to a wonderful eating joint on Sharia Zaki al-Arsuzi where we ordered a feast fit for a king. We had fresh and crunchy salad, tasty hummus, amazing babaganouj, flavoursome kebabs and I sampled for the first and I sincerely hope not last time in my gastronomic life the Aleppan cherry kebab. Now it may sound strange, but let me just remind you that the Chinese and many other fine cuisine traditions mix sweet with savoury and this cherry kebab sauce was so good I was mopping it up with bread afterwards. If I were to say that the flavour was a little like charoseth probably only my immediate family would really know what I meant and would no doubt be confused if I didn't explain that Aleppan food is a mixture of Syrian, Armenian and Jewish cooking. For others I will say that the flavour is sweet and tastes also of cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice, almonds (not too much though), and cherry. As you can probably tell, I like it a lot. In fact, I would probably go back to Aleppo just for that.
The evening continued a little down the road in this huge relic of colonial days called the Baron Hotel. I rather bemoan the fact that no one really makes that sort of effort nowadays. Not in colonialism of course, rather in constructing a building as imposing, dramatic and strangely handsome. It had a most pleasant atmosphere as we sipped out beer (coke for me) out on the tables in front of the hotel and we each took it in turns to inspect the facilities and accidentally on purpose get lost in its corridors. Sam and I conversed on triangles, badgers and rodents in general until we decided to turn in for the night. I couldn't quite believe that our day had started so very far away in Deir az-Zur 18 hours beforehand…
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