Much of today was spent travelling, our main aim being to get to Hama, a middle-sized Syrian city about 250 kilometres north of Damascus.
We woke at about 7:30 am, had breakfast in our hotel, and then walked to the main post office (to post some postcards) along streets that were strangely quiet and deserted after yesterday’s frenetic activity – Friday is the Muslim rest day and it was clearly being taken very seriously in Damascus.
Our bus was due to depart at 11:15 am, so at about 10:30 am we found a taxi and took the trip to the bus station towards the edge of Damascus. Although all the signs were in Arabic, we had no trouble finding the right bus as everyone was so helpful; the cheerful willingness to welcome visitors and go out of one’s way to be helpful is one of the joys of visiting Syria.
Our bus departed at about 11:30 am, and the trip to Hama took a little over two and a half hours. The scenery was quite unremarkable, being a dry, scrubby desert landscape not dissimilar to outback South Australia. Upon arriving in Hama, we took the short taxi ride to our hotel and after going to the roof of the hotel to take in the general views of the city, we prepared to go exploring.
Although Hama has a population of over one and a half million people, the city centre is quite compact. The main attractions in Hama are the ‘norias’, or wooden water wheels, that have been used for centuries to draw water from the Orontes River that flows through the town and drop it into a network of stone aqueducts.
The norias are quite large, up to 20 metres in diameter. Being constructed of wood, they make a loud, deep groaning sound as they rotate. Although water wheels have been used in Hama since about the 4th century, the norias that can be seen today date from more recent times, mainly the 13th century.
We went for a walk of about 6 kilometres, starting in the centre of the city where several very accessible norias could be seen in operation. This also gave us a chance to see the commercial centre of the city, even though everything was closed and quiet because of the Friday holy day.
One of the things we have noticed in Syria is the large number of portraits of the President, Bashar al-Assad. While perhaps stopping short of a full blown North Korean style personality cult, the President’s portraits adorn government buildings, large billboards, shops and even the windows of cars.
After examining the water wheels in the city centre, we took a walk of a little over one kilometre upstream to see four norias working together. Known as the Four Norias of Bechriyyat. Unfortunately it was difficult to get a good view of them because many of the riverfront areas were fenced off as private property.
We returned to the city centre on the opposite side of the river, and after enjoying a great imitation Coca-Cola, we proceeded a further kilometre downstream to the largest of the norias, a huge water wheel known as Al-Mohammediyya that was towering over a (men’s only) swimming area and feeding a double-decker aqueduct.
Our walk was not focussed entirely on water wheels of course. Wandering along the river banks also gave us a great opportunity to observe everyday life in Hama, and to appreciate again the warm welcomes of Syrian people, including even the smiling greetings from small children.
On the other hand, one of the less pleasant aspects of travelling in Syria is the widespread smoking that occurs, although mercifully this has recently been banned in enclosed eating areas. No smoking signs are common in all parts of the world, but they seem to go into a little more detail in Syria than elsewhere.
After several hours of walking we returned to our hotel for dinner. Eating out was not an option because (a) everywhere was closed for the Friday holiday, and (b) even if they had been open, I could not have paid for the food because all the ATM machines were also resting.
I am writing this diary at 10:45 pm at night, and a huge function is just starting right under our window. Tens of well dressed VIPs are arriving for a large dinner, the drums have begun in earnest, the mournful chanting of a male choir is also well underway, and a troupe of folk dancers is just getting warmed up for a long evening. Loud as these sounds are, it is the squealing of the poorly tuned microphones that will probably be my biggest impediment to a good night’s sleep.
At least I am out of range of the passive smoking hazard.
