Visiting Syria was not on my short-term bucket list, far from it, but some things just happen as if they were sent to us from above. A post on the NomadMania website advertised a 12-day trip to Syria in September. Interested people should contact Harry.
Having no idea who Harry was, I dropped him a two-line email to say that I was an interested person. I was a registered user of the NomadMania website for some time, I diligently marked countries and regions that I visited and that was as far as I went. I only used the site to keep track of my travels. And now what had I done? I equally feared both Harry’s responses. One would be ‘we are fully booked’, the other ‘you are welcome to join our tour’.
Harry replied that at that stage, they were just building the group and that more information would be sent out in a few weeks. His email signature stated that he was the founder of NomadMania. A quick online search revealed that Harry Mitsidis visited every country in the world twice (there are 193 UN countries, in case someone needs a refresher) and now he was doing a third round. Oops, what did I get myself into?
Since no immediate action was required, I put it all out of my head and flew to Bulgaria to spend the summer there. That was in June. Over the following month, the situation in the Middle East grew tense, worse that it usually was in this unstable region. Harry’s strict instructions in the group chat were to sit tight and not to do anything stupid like booking non-refundable tickets until he said it was time to buy.
International travelers can get into Syria either from Beirut, Lebanon, which is close to the border with Syria, or to take a cumbersome route via Jordan. Plan A was to fly to Beirut and to get out of Lebanon as soon as possible. The recent developments made Syria look like a safe haven compared to Lebanon. Some airlines already canceled flights to Beirut. Plan B was to go from Jordan. There was also Plan C – to scrap the trip all together and nobody wanted this to happen.
Our visa applications were in process, the trip start date was coming close and I could not wait any longer – I bought a non-refundable ticket from Istanbul to Beirut hoping that Turkish Airlines would not stop flying, i.e. did exactly what Harry told us not to do.
In August, things turned from bad to worse. Foreigners were advised to leave Lebanon asap. News channels showed crowds of people in Beirut airport who were trying to get out of the country on any flight. We were still going.
At the end of August, Harry finally announced his decision – we should get together in Athens, Greece, and board the same MEA flight to Beirut. MEA, the Lebanese airline, could be the only one that continued flying. Half of the group accepted that, the other half was already traveling somewhere and opted for getting to Beirut a day or two earlier by the airline of their choice and to wait for the rest there.
Sitting in Bulgaria, I did not belong to either party. My flight from Istanbul was expected to arrive at exactly the same time as the flight from Athens. Checking departures and arrivals at Beirut airport became my daily ritual. A good number of flights was cancelled or delayed including my Turkish Airlines flight. My options were a) to pay a steep fee for rescheduling the flight to an earlier date; b) to forget about my ticket and buy a new one to Athens which would mean a long and inconvenient way of getting to Beirut rather than a 1.5-hour direct flight from Istanbul; c) do nothing and take the risk.
I was pondering my options for days until I started having nightmares in which I arrived in Beirut after the group left. It was going on like this until I received a message from Turkish Airlines that the departure time of my flight changed to 1 hour earlier. I took it as a good sign and went with Option C, do nothing and rely on my good fortune.
The overnight bus from Bulgaria to Istanbul was 2 hours late, but that was fine. I had plenty of time until my flight. Sleeping on the bus was impossible. It stopped every hour on the Bulgarian side to take more passengers. Then everyone had to get off the bus at the border to go through passport control. After that, all sleepiness was gone leaving me in a state close to nervous breakdown.
I hate the new Istanbul airport. It is designed as a gigantic mall with endless shops and restaurants as if everyone comes there with the only thought on their mind – to spend a lot. A few seats here and there do little to help a weary passenger to rest while waiting for their flight. Although the airport is rather new, the carpet and seat covers are stained and worn. I walked for what felt like a mile before I found a vacant spot to sit down, curled up on it and napped.
My flight to Beirut was full. Apparently, some people were still trying to get into the country despite the urgent recommendation to leave it. We boarded the plane on time and sat on it for an hour before departing. That ate up my precious advantage over the group coming from Athens. Oddly, it stopped worrying me. A calm feeling that everything was going to be all right relaxed me and I slept on the plane a little more.
The planes from Athens and Istanbul landed in Beirut one right after the other. An immigration officer asked for my reason for coming to Lebanon.
‘Tourism,’ I said.
‘For how long?’
‘Two weeks but most of this time I will be in Syria.’
‘Why do you want to go there?’
‘To see it.’
The officer stared at me for a moment trying to understand if I lost all my marbles or just some of them, shrugged his shoulders and stamped me in. If some people were born idiots that was not his fault.
I caught up with Harry and Co. at the baggage carousel where they were collecting their suitcases and introduced myself. The other half of the group was waiting for us in the arrivals area. The founder of the Golden Team travel agency, Fadi, personally came from Syria to pick us up at the airport and to take across the border.
Harry used the time to the border to go over the rules of the trip. One of them was “Don’t you ever be late. You are one minute late – I will leave you behind. If you do not believe me – try it.”
Then it was Fadi’s turn to introduce himself and to exchange money. The rate at that time was US$1 ≈ 15,000 Syrian pounds. He brought a bag with Syrian currency; each banknote was 5,000 pounds. I exchanged $100 and got 3 heavy bundles of Syrian cash held together by elastic bands.
The group voted to have a quick stop in Tripoli at a UNESCO site just to tick it off the list. We were driving past it anyway. The site, Rachid Karameh International Fair, was fenced and guarded by a few bored soldiers. We were allowed to enter and to take photos.
Wow, cool! You are very courageous to go there at that time!
Thankfully, everything went well