Eric Umansky

There's no place like home (by Sara)

As my co-blogger has mentioned, we're officially (actually unofficially, and off the books) Damascus renters. The process of moving in left us both drained, financially, mentally and physically. Our moving day happened to coincide with a heat wave in Damascus in July, and if you can picture two gringos with multiple suitcases, subpar language skills, unable to find a taxi in the middle of the afternoon, you'll get a small glimpse of our experience.

At different points in the day, both Eric and I thought we might be experiencing multiple-organ failure due to the extreme heat. Fortunately our friend Rasha, a native-Arabic speaker, came to our rescue, and helped with language/cultural translation. In addition, she  sheltered us from the heat during the 7 hour delay between when we were told the apartment would be ready and when it was actually ready.  Her a.c., a few episodes of 24, and pizza and Indian food helped make an arduous day significantly easier.

In other news, we got our first taste of the local health care system last week. As aforementioned, I had been attacked by a yet-to-be-determined insect and was having some kind of reaction. I was beside myself with itchiness and looked like I had a case of chicken pox. Though Eric was a bit skeptical due to my tendency for melodrama, he accompanied me to the medical clinic, where a doctor informed me I was suffering from... bug bites (despite the language differential, I believe he was inferring that I should suck it up). With a couple different antihistimines and topical disinfectant, we were out the door in less than a half hour, having spent about $30.

I still look pretty gross, with the bites blistering, but I'm definitely less itchy. We're going back this evening for a follow-up appointment for me, and also to ask about the multiple bites now covering Eric...In the meanwhile, we put all of our clothing in garbage bags out on the terrace as well as our suitcases in an attempt to suffocate the little buggers.

Bye Bye Wi-Fi

A quick explanation of our radio silence: 

We moved from our swank equipped hotel a few days ago.  And it turns out Wi-Fi is not freely available in every nook and cranny of Damascus. Go figure!

In other news, we moved into our apartment yesterday. And are still... settling in. Lots of stuff to buy and clean. Also, did I mention it was 112 F yesterday?

Video of our apartment and neighbhorhood coming soon...

Tear Down This Wall! (by Sara)

Our hotel has lost its favored nation status over the past few days. We had been very excited last week when we were upgraded to a suite in a new part of the hotel, which was mere steps away from the enchanted courtyard- until 2 days ago, when a wall was built, blocking access. Now we have to go up to the roof, and back down another staircase to get in and out. Apparently, this was done because they didn't have 'papers' to open the new wing. The solution? Hiding the guests behind a wall, of course!

My other issue with the hotel is that I am covered in some type of bug bites that I believe are fleas, but I can't find any evidence to prove my theory, and Eric thinks they're just mosquito bites I've been getting outside, as he isn't suffering from. I have to figure out how to say 'deet' in Arabic. In any case, I am one (b)itchy American.

This is all moot, however, because we've learned there's no room at the inn for us tonight!

Success! (by Sara)

Getting anything accomplished in this town can feel like a major coup (authorities, please excuse the use of the word, but it seemed appropriate in the context), so getting our passports with extended visas and AIDS test results (negative!), was an especially proud moment.

We also finally managed to do something touristy and went to the National Museum, which, though unairconditioned, holds a pretty impressive collection of relics, some as old as 5000 years, including an entire synagogue which from the 2nd century A.D.

We (meaning I) felt we deserved a treat for all of our effort, so we walked to the new Four Seasons. After a tour of the gym, which makes my New York gym fancy gym membership seem like a steal, we shared a few dishes at the restaurant-  beet salad and lamb kebab in cherry sauce (an Aleppo specialty). It didn't fit into the budget, but as I uncouthly pointed out in the elevator in the company of some nattily-dressed African VIPs, the people watching couldn't be beat. And the bathrooms! Don't get me started...

In other news, while we think we have the housing issue under control for the most part, the earliest we can take occupancy is Sunday, and judging from the pace of things here, that doesn't seem particularly likely. Our budget can not really sustain our rising hotel bills, so we have been hoping to get a discount or find cheaper temporary digs. Unfortunately, it's high season and coming up on a weekend and we haven't found any availability. What's more, we just found out this hotel isn't even available tomorrow night!

A Study in Contrasts

Today, Sara and I returned to the Immigration Office, where we again faced pushing and shoving and then--in something of a surprise--actually got our passports back with the visas extended, just as we had hoped for.

But the striking thing wasn't our own experience. Rather, it was the realization that almost everybody else in the scrum with us was Iraqi. They may have to deal with big lines and not the friendliest of service but it sure looked to me like they were at least getting processed and papers to stay legally long-term.

Compare that to how the U.S. has been dealing with Iraqi refugees. A few days ago, I noted the State Department's latest F-you, regarding the  recent and particularly difficult-to-meet requirements that Iraqis get new passports. Meanwhile, the Wall Street Journal has noticed the same:

The Iraqi passport restrictions are among numerous steps the U.S. and other countries are taking out of a heightened concern about terrorism. The U.S. prohibition against the use of the old Iraqi passports is more severe than any steps it has taken with documents issued by other nations.

It all strikes me as  très short-sighted.

Changes

One thing I didn't realize until I got here: Syria seems to be booming. And the government seems to be trying to pull a China: still keeping on... other things, they are  opening up the economy big time. A small signs:

• Just about everyone I've seen here had a cellphone. There's a cellphone store--SyriaTel--about every four storefronts. Not all that surprising, except I just read that cellphones were banned here until four years ago.

• We  get about a thousand channels via our satellite dish, including some particularly spicy ones.


• Last night we ate at a place--"Gemini"--where I had a chicken fajita, Sara had another fancy chicken dish--and they were good!

On the other hand, try visiting Skpe.com or YouTube from around here and you get rerouted to Syria's special server.

Doing it Dimashq style (by Sara)

So we think we've settled on an apartment- we put a deposit down on the sweet, sweet palace we saw the other day and allegedly will be able to sign a contract and move in by Sunday. There were a couple of language/cultural/trust barriers, but in sh'allah, it'll all work out. All in all, the process doesn't seem nearly as shady thus far as the one we know in New York City. With the time and anxiety-consuming apartment search taken care of,  it was time to tackle a much more daunting task.

Yesterday we both got our AIDS test, required for an extended visa. Eric heard from a Syrian-American friend that the clinic takes all the blood taken each day, combines it and tests that batch for HIV. Then if it tests positive, everyone who took the test that day has to retake it. Hopefully this is just urban legend. The test itself wasn't too bad -- the guys who administered it were very friendly and jokey. The only time we felt in danger was when we had to play human Frogger to get to the clinic. Figuring out how to cross the street in this city is an art and we have a lot to learn.

This morning we left the hotel before 8:00 to attempt to get our residency permit at the Bureau of Immigration and Passports. The process is a rite of passage for any foreigner in Damascus and we came prepared for the worst. Fortunately, we had been tutored on the ins and outs of the system by Eric's friend Ben, who was there this morning to deal with his own visa.

We started on the 3rd floor, where we jostled in line for our documents.Here's a photo of the fun (which we've swiped from another blogger, Mr. Anthropologist in Damascus):

Next we went back outside, to a neighboring Internet cafe, where they handle filling everything out, attaching your photos, etc.-- for a fee (two bucks each!). Then back up to the 3rd floor, where the line had grown. Next we were sent up to the 4th floor to an air conditioned general's office (the rest of the building was stifling) for his John Hancock, then back down to the line on the 3rd floor.

By now we had mastered how to stand in line -- which isn't exactly a line but more of a teeming mass of people jockeying to shove their passports to the uninterested government workers behind plexiglass. Our technique involves doing a double block -- Eric blocking on one side from people attempting to cut in front, myself on the other, and then whichever one of us is closest takes the passports, etc., and tries to shove them behind the glass. While I felt guilty for shoving refugees who have likely had a difficult time of it already, we would likely still be in line 5 hours later if we hadn't gotten a little pushy ourselves. At least we were better than the British woman who marched to the front of the line-- we waited our turn before we became pushy.

After a few other lines and minus our passports, we were out the door. All told, it only took an hour and a half, but we have to go back tomorrow to pick up our passports, this afternoon to the health clinic for our AIDS test results, and tomorrow to school to register.  Hopefully everything will work out, but it seems to depend wholly on the mood of whomever is doing the stamping, the day of the week,  etc. Another student in line with us didn't make it as far as we did because he didn't have a letter from his university- which we don't have either, but we're hoping luck is on our side.

Ron Burgundy's Damascus Pad

I just visited Mr. Burgundy's ideal get-away here. It had a retractable  roof (which didn't seem to close properly, but whatever!). It also sported a fully enclosed (and portable!) capsule-style sauna and shower. When the "real estate agent" pushed a few buttons on the electronic console to show me that the water worked...the radio came on. Judging by the icons on the console, the shower/sauna capsule has a phone too! 

Keep it classy, Damascus!

Yallah! Now we're talking... (by Sara)

When we first decided to live in Syria, I had fantasized about living in a lovely old house in the Old City with a courtyard, communing with "the people," having a local grocer, butcher and baker who knew me by name... that fantasy has been supplanted by a new one, involving a modern fancy large apartment in a newer section of town. We were shown such a place by our 'broker' today with 2 bedrooms, a living room and dining room, washing machine, new a.c., and satellite TV. And while it costs more money than we had hoped to pay here, it is oddly only about $300 more than the crummy places we saw yesterday. The caveats? We have to pay the full amount of the rent up front in U.S. dollars, and we don't really have enough nor do we know if we can take out dollars on our bank cards here. But for that place, I may be willing to sell myself on the streets...

How do you say, "separate shower?" (by Sara)

The search for an apartment was briefly put on hold as Eric convalesced and I had sympathy stomach pain, but we started the full-court press yesterday. So far, what we've seen has put us in a bit of a funk. There was the dingy private apartment in the Al-Shalaan neighborhood that seemed to be occupied at the time by an elderly lady and family - the kind of place where your neighbors are likely to know your every move. Then there was the 5th floor walk-up whose owner had passed away 3 weeks ago, with buckets of brown water in the bathroom, an  a.c. from the 1950s, and a lot of dirt. The owner's son swore it would look like new after they called in a cleaning service- but we were unconvinced. We were also shown a room with a single bed in a family home near Bab Touma that was, in a word, dreary.

Today we were taken to an apartment just outside the Old City by our "friend" the elderly French-speaking man, Khaleed, who it turns out is not so elderly. He's 60- but looks at least 70. My 60-year-old mother could definitely take him in a street fight. We still haven't figured out his m.o., or if he's just a nice guy who wants to  be friends. The owner of the apartment also appeared to be at least 70, was missing his front teeth and clad in a polyester leisure suit that didn't look like it breathes too well in the heat. The place, another 5th floor walkup includes our very own Turkish toilet as well as a regular toilet that is in the same stall as the shower head.

While we (or at least I) feel it's better to see as many places before making a decision, the tricky thing to navigate is to explain to our various hosts that we're looking for something a little more upscale without stepping on anyone's toes.

The one place we've really liked so far is the apartment in an artist's  restored old mansion with a courtyard in the Jewish Quarter that is, alas, occupied until October. But it's exactly what we're looking for! Meanwhile we've extended our hotel stay through Tuesday (we had originally intended to find a place and check out by Saturday), which, though eating into our budget, is a pretty swell place to lay one's head. We've been fantasizing that we would charm the proprietors so much that they would invite us to stay here for awhile on the cheap. So far, no dice.