Tales of Shops

Last night we went shopping. Finally. When I came, my suitcase contained another suitcase, and the other suitcase contained not much at all. I heard about the Syrian prices, and decided to renew my wardrobe while here. The downside of that — no wearables. I just filled the washing machine with two sets of underwear and a T-shirt. So some shopping was seriously called for. And it was the last minute possible: except in the Christian district (which is not in the walking distance, unless one is a marathon runner, or a postman), the weekend starts on Friday, so Thursday 8 pm was really cutting it a bit close. However, it seems that here things liven up considerably in the evening. Shops work late, and not emptily, either. Anyway, it was fun! I got a shirt and one set of trousers. And I had fashion advisors at hand, so it probably does not suck as much as my clothes usually do. The traders also had things to say, although one did try to sell me some things I really couldn't imagine myself in (and, more importantly, my clothing jury couldn't, either). They also surprised me somewhat, acting very westerny and polite, and not in the Typical Syrian Trader Fashion™, which I worked out before.

I mean, Nina was looking at a shop window, and a guy she imagined was the proprietor invited her to come inside. Blink, and she found herself in a deep basement three stories under the street, Nisha loyally two steps behind. She finally extricated herself from the little underground shop, and ten steps further comes a-running a little boy, perhaps 8 years of age, babbling something in Arabic. Nisha said he didn't understand, and the boy held out his hand for a handshake. Unsuspecting, he humored the local urchin, who, after a prolonged handshake, grabbed Nisha's arm under his with both hands and started dragging him back to one of the shops. Entrepreneurship...

Speaking of entrepreneurship, crafts are the lifeblood of the city. Everyone is making something, even if it's something really simple. (Hyperbole alert. Don't point out the flaws in my prose logic, and I won't point out fingers into people's eyes. Thank you for your co-operation.) For example, there are more jewellers than bakeries (and there is no shortage of bakeries, either). Which makes for a strange situation where it is impossible to buy pure silver or gold, only the crafted pieces. You want a sheet of gold, for example for a tooth, probably the best way to go about it is to select a gold trinket and ask the jeweller to smelt it. And some things I find sorely missing in my oh-so-western Zagreb, where traders abound yet no-one makes anything at all. A a case in point: juice shops. Little businesses that at first glance appear to be fruit groceries, but in actuality sell freshly squeezed/pulped/shaken fruit. You have a yearning for a banana shake with a dash of strawberry? A 0.0% pina colada? (Ask a Croat to explain.) A glass of pomegranate juice? No problem! Even if English not spoken here, they will be very happy to try to play mime with you until you're satisfied with your virgin cocktail. Yummy! and Healthy! and Cheap!

Then we went to the Qasyun mountain (variously pronounced by Nina as Keshun, Kaysun and a sundry of other variations on theme, until she finally affirmed the correct name by walking on it), to see the ﺩﻤﺸﻖ panorama. Not a real mountain, more like a bump in the ground, but it is steep, and so one stands right next to the city, and no clouds or distance mar the view. What beautiful! How wow! Words do not do it justice: wait for the pictures, but even then I am not sure you can feel the sprawliness of the city beneath. Seeing all the green lights dotting the streets below, you can count the countless minarets throughout the city. We'll be going up again, to see what it looks like in the day — this was more for the sparkly plains effect, not for informativeness. After about ten minutes we finally made a tentative guess at the location of our apartment. And that only because it's very close to the "mountain", and has a mosque nearby.

English is fun. You know Chinglish and Engrish? Well, Syrians have their own variety. The first example was immediately after we landed. We received some forms we had to fill out to be allowed in the country, demanding our names, birthdates, syrian addresses and whatnot, and on the other side it said something like: Welcome to your country Syria. OMG, what have I signed, I asked myself, then reassured myself it was only a language glitch. But language glitches catch on my linguist ears, and I find them immensely funny, especially if they are printed on hand-outs like these, where every single foreigner is bound to see them. Literally. By law.

Then we were walking in the city, and we found a Technical Laundry. Wishes for Happy Juorney are extended from the side of a bus, and (to tie in with the topic of the day), most of the shops sport either Sale signs, or Sold signs, or both. They are apparently synonymous in this part of the world, and 30% SOLD! does not mean "You can browse on the left side, but the bit in the corner is private property now.".

And if you think 30% sale is great, think again: there are shops that advertise 20% 30% 40% 50% 60% 70% SALE SOLD. Some shops have price tags on their articles, but not all, and even if they do, they are the "non-sold" price, and you have to ask what the discount is for the thingy you're interested in. This shoe, two thousand ninety pound. For you, maybe two thousand hundred, yes?

Typed too much again. We'll be going to see the old city some time now, but there's more to be written. Next episode: more vehicular fascination. Some time, same channel.