Travel26
With our vast accumulated wisdom we have upgraded to the VIP bus this time (the windows are cleaner for sure) and are now sitting, waiting in our slot for takeoff. For at least 24 more minutes. A beautiful clear day in Aleppo. The two buses next to us have taken off and now another has just pulled in. Buses from this station go to Istanbul, Tehran, Baghdad, Aman, Beirut and hopefully to our destination which is Tripoli.
Overall the hustling here in Syria was less demanding than in Turkey, although by number shoeshine boys per capita are about the same. Yesterday a boy from Charles Dickens central casting practically attached himself to Bernadette's leg in his attempt to convince her she needed a shine but later while I was out alone possibly the same boy (certainly one very like him) persisted beyond my initial ignoring of him only briefly before his 10 year old boss dragged him away. As I was at the time in a brief but very sincere sober contemplation about rates of monetary exchange perhaps the older boy recognized the emotion as one he himself faces and so gave me a pass on the hustling. We were however later kindly and politely hustled by a fluent english speaking Syrian Lothario who in the end only wasted slightly more than an hour of my time and only cost Bernadette sixty something American for the silver necklace he led us to deep in the souk.
The two Americans have been graced with good luck at both Syrian border crossings but whereas the one in was by private taxi and took ten minutes this one out is on the bus with forty others of varying nationality and well...now we are finally out in just under 2 hours. But as often can be the case it wasn't the Americans slowing things down for everybody at the border. Next stop a few minutes away, Tripoli, a reputed hell hole, but alas, where by paternal grandparentage, I am from.
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