Heading south from Damascus I really didn’t feel like leaving Syria. The people were friendly, both the countryside and the cities were fascinating, but it was the history of Syria, so close to the surface, that I was going to miss. The living history was all around and it wasn’t in some musty old building with only the echoing steps of security guards for company. One city block could hold thousands of years of construction- a Roman column used to support an Ottoman wall used as the back to cell phone store. In Aleppo I stayed at The Baron hotel and at first thought I was in the room used by T.E. Lawrence, but later found it was actually the room used by King Faisal to declare Syria’s independence- the only other guests where in the room where Agatha Christie wrote much of ‘Murder on the Orient Express’. In Palmyra I rode my bike down a grand Roman avenue. Everywhere I went history was there to be experienced where it was made- not behind glass.
So, despite looking forward to Jordan, it was with more than one fond look in my mirrors that I crossed over the border and left Syria behind.