WHITE SANDS SALT LA

WHITE SANDS - SALT LAKE

Last weekend activities were severely curtailed for a number of reasons.  The first is that, being the end of the month, the spectre of writing his monthly report was hanging over Robert’s head like the sword of Damocles and he had not had time to do anything about it at the office as something always seemed to turn up, so Friday morning was spent writing that.  Then, as the Agro-food Fair is looming ever closer and Shaam was having difficulties getting some people to pay any attention to her - one of the major disadvantages of being a woman in an Islamic country is that men, and particularly important men, think that if another man is not at the other end of the telephone line then the topic under discussion cannot be serious - so Robert had to go into the office on Saturday to try and remedy that situation.  Then, as he was due to make a trip to Aleppo on Monday and there were still things outstanding, he had to go in on Sunday too.  That meant that the only free time left was Friday afternoon.

To make the best of this short respite, we decided to make the short trip to a salt lake  about sixty kilometres north of Damascus on the old Homs road.  This trip is short enough to do comfortably in an afternoon but would serve to break the monotony of being in the city.  We followed the instructions in the leaflets issued by the British Embassy, which in themselves make quite diverting reading, taking the new Homs road as far as the long climb up from the Damascus plain and then, at an army checkpoint, turning off on to the old Homs road, skirting the village of Qtaife to the left and then passing Muaddamiyah and going down the main street of Jayroud.  Shortly after Jayroud, a compound of rusty old oil drums was the signal to watch out for, and half a kilometre after that an old mud building on the left - an old caravenserai - marked the spot where we should leave the road and go down a dirt track passing a farm on the left heading for a “Winnie-the Pooh-like small spinney” in the distance (a more accurate but less “literary” description might be a clump of seven trees). Then a “prominent” track used by sand lorries, as opposed to the myriad other minor ones, would take off to the left and lead us to the salt lake.  Correct.

We parked the car on the edge of the lake bed now dried out and cracking all over in the manner of those dramatic shots so beloved of photographers everywhere.  In some places the cracked surface was several inches think.  Fortunately I had insisted on bringing Robert’s keffiyeh and my own white veil because, if not, it would have proved impossible to walk far under the blazing sun.  As it was, we managed to cross the lake bed with the blinding white sands on the far shores.  

This was the first time that we could let the dog off the lead.  Although there were shepherds and goatherds in the distance grazing their flocks, I felt it was a fairly safe bet that they would not be coming to the salty sands of the lake and felt safe enough to let Simon have a rollicking run.  He could not believe his luck!  At first he went running off without thinking but then suddenly stopped and looked back as if to say “Is this really true?  Am I on my own here?”.  However, he was most attentive to our movements and did not stray far.  When he got out of the car and examined his surroundings, he obviously equated the sandy environment with beach and sea, so he went running first on one direction and then another looking for the water which, by rights, should have been there.  In vain.  Finally, he gave up and contented himself with running around near us, until even that became tiresome under the scorching sun.  His tongue was hanging out nearly down to his knees.  When we got back, he flopped down in the shade of the car and drank some water from the bottle we always carry with us for just such occasions.

Robert was anxious that I should drive the car back to get some practice in the traffic so, instead of going straight back, we went to Ma’alula with the intention of buying some table wine.  Alas, the stock from last year’s harvest is now exhausted and there will be no more wine until this year’s harvest in the autumn.  No matter.  Yusuf, the owner of the little shop, was delighted to see us and immediately went into the back shop and brought out a glass of sweet wine and a plateful of nuts for us to munch our way through while we made our purchases.  After that it was time to face the music driving through the Damascus traffic  right from one end of the city to another, and Robert insisted on taking me through the  heart of the city shunning all possible easy options.  Anyway, I made it and we got home in one piece!

May 3 1998