castles and graves

All is well here in Syria. The travels continue and leave us exhausted nearly every night. I've even started to take naps. I think the 6 weeks of traveling are finally catching up to my body. Muscles are aching and my eyes are drooping every day. Still, I must persevere.

In the midst of my fun, I got some bad news a few days ago. My aunt Ani in Beirut has spent the last few years caring for her husband Antranig, who's been suffering from Alzheimer's. After some very tough times, he finally succumbed and died a few days ago. The funeral was Sunday in Beirut. I'm headed down there Thursday. It'll be a bittersweet reunion, but nice at the same time. My cousin and his wife came from Italy for the funeral and so I'll get a chance to see them before they head back.

Of course, it's put a damper in my mood. But this is life and in the end my uncle was finally freed of the disease that's tortured him and his family for years.

With that on my mind, we've still seen plenty in the last few days.

On May 28, we went to a restaurant in the mountains above Latakia to celebrate Armenia's original independence day (1918.) Lunch, patriotic songs and even some dancing lifted my mood. Yesterday we went up the same route to Qalaat Saladin, a Crusader fortress turned Muslim fortress under the Sultan Saladin, who conquered much of the Middle East during his time (12th century.) The site is virtually untouched and there were few visitors when we arrived in the afternoon. You see that Syria has a long way to go to lure more tourists, which is a shame because there's so much to see.

Tomorrow we go to Homs and Crac Des Chevaliers, another Crusader castle. At one time, all these forts were linked from Europe down to Jerusalem. They were spaced apart in such a way that they could send light signals and messages to one another. And the architecture just blows your mind. To think they built these massive stone structures without the aid of modern machinery or tools really gives you some pause.

Afterward we drove down to Qirdaha, former president Hafez Assad's hometown. At the center of town is a massive white mausoleum, built of course in the Islamic style. The large empty hall houses two coffins draped in green velvet. At the center is Hafez Assad. In one corner is his son, who died a few years before he could take over the presidency from his father. We were the only visitors and they allowed me to take pictures. I was waiting for some propaganda, but we got none, a pleasant surprise. As we walked outside, we were offered Arabic coffee from a black-clad young man sporting a tie with a white image of the dead son imprinted on it. What a trip.

Now I'm hanging out with Areen who's enthralled with Bugs Bunny cartoons. It's almost as good as visiting Crusader castles and dead dictators' graves.