Another busy month with a few setbacks which I will term character building...

Our break in Kas drew to an end; reluctantly we dragged ourselves away and embarked on a three-day trek to the Syrian border. The road from Kas to Antalya winds its way along the rocky coast, clinging to the cliffs – at times reduced to one and a half car’s width which gets interesting when you have a lorry hurtling towards you and a 500 feet drop to the sea on your right. From Antalya the land flattened out and we had our choice of empty beaches to camp on – although on our last night in Turkey we would have been forgiven for thinking that we had taken a wrong turn and ended up on the west coast of Scotland in December, as we found ourselves in the grip of a viscous storm that threatened to tear the tent from the roof of the car. But the morning was calm and the sun soon dried out our camp; and before setting off for the border we made a quick trip into the nearest town to make use of the internet cafe before entering supposedly internet-free Syria. Naturally the Turkish internet system was being its usual uncooperative self and I gave up after a fifteen minute battle. Outside I found Richard, who was busy trying sort out an alarming clanking noise coming from the tow hitch, had gathered a small crowd of onlookers from the local garage workshop. They were eager to offer their advice and put in a bid for most of our tools - once Richard had finished we were ushered into the manager's office where we were treated to copious amounts of incredibly strong, syrupy Turkish coffee and had a rather confusing conversation conducted in a mixture of Arabic, Turkish, English and something close to Martian. Feeling the effects of caffeine poisoning we tried to say our goodbyes but our attempts to leave were thwarted - we had to go to another workshop with the owner where we were treated to more tea and another round of questioning....

Two hours later than anticipated we reached the border where everything was going fantastically well until I handed over the speeding ticket that Richard had picked up on his dash to the Land Rover Garage in Izmir. This ticket complemented the speeding ticket issued to Max in Italy (I believe I forgot to mention that the Land Rover has been fitted with a Ferrari engine) and the fine that Vicky picked up in Turkey for not wearing her seatbelt (in a country that allows a family of four to ride the wrong way down a dual carriageway on the same moped). Anyway, it transpired that Richard should have paid his fine the day before – had we not read the regulations written in Turkish on the back of the ticket?! – and therefore the fine had doubled. No matter how much I pleaded, shouted or fluttered my eyelashes the border guard would not back down – ‘this, madam, is the law’ he said with a particularly evil smile!

On to the coastal city of Lattakia; our first stop in Syria and, we hoped, an opportunity to dive somewhere rather more exciting than a Turkish swimming pool. Sadly we had neglected to realise that we had arrived in Syria the day after the official beginning of winter and therefore the only diving centre we knew of was firmly shut. We could only glean two snippets of information from the manager of one of the hotels – the visibility in the water was rubbish and we would have to walk out to sea for at least a kilometre before reaching water deep enough to be able to dive in – and this led us to conclude that now was not the time to continue Max and Vicky’s diving course! And so on to the next obstacle – finding somewhere to camp for the night. Campsites are a rare commodity in Syria and Lattakia was no exception – but who needs a camping ground when there’s a perfectly good car-park, sandwiched between a slightly dilapidated hotel and an army base. Max and Vicky opted for the delights of one of the chalets while Richard and I, much to the astonishment of the soldiers on duty at the gate, set up camp. Not a particularly restful night – we had hit mosquito country and most of them were in our tent. While I am a mosquito repellent (something I attribute to plenty of Marmite – eaten rather than worn!) Richard is a mosquito magnet; eight bites later and we were engaged in a mosquito seek-and-destroy mission, which lasted into the early morning…

Driving out of Lattakia we found ourselves caught up in a mass of football supporters. Recognising an excellent opportunity for a free ride on the back of a Range Rover they swarmed around our vehicles; one man told us, in clipped BBC World Service English, that they were celebrating the victory of one Lattakian football team over the other. Extracting ourselves from the crowd without crushing anyone we made our way south down the coast towards the Lebanese border, then followed the road inland to Crac des Chevaliers, the magnificent Crusader castle that is one of Syria’s prime attractions. The road up to the fort twists and turns through a jungle of houses – and within sight of the top we took a wrong turn and plunged down a side alley full of people who had clearly seen overlanders make the same mistake many times before. ‘The castle’s that way!’ Er, yes we had noticed… Trying to execute a neat three point turn in an area designed for a mini rather than a Range Rover and trailer while surrounded by overexcited children and adults yelling directions has a bad effect on one’s blood pressure – it was with some relief that we arrived at the resthouse close to the castle, greeted by the friendly owner and an eclectic mix of animals including two giant tomcats who spent the rest of the evening growling at each other annoyingly close to our tent.

We gave ourselves the morning to explore the castle and left just after lunch to drive to the border with Lebanon. Whereas the other borders had been calm and well ordered, this was pure chaos; cars, buses and lorries arriving from all directions and converging into a single lane that passed through the customs area. Horns blaring, people shouting, dogs barking – fantastic! Leaving Max and Richard to ‘guard the cars’ Vicky and I marched off, armed with passports and carnet de passages, to do battle with the weary looking border officials. Halfway through completing my carnet the guard asked if the Range Rover was petrol – I confirmed it was. ‘Just as well’ he said, ‘the Lebanese have banned foreign diesel cars’. How unusual, a border guard with a sense of humour – except he was being serious. Unbeknown to us the law had been introduced a month before and there were no exceptions It seemed that our dream of diving in Lebanon would have to remain exactly that and although Richard and I could have gone in alone we didn’t think it was fair to abandon Max and Vicky at the border, shouting ‘see you in two weeks’ over our shoulders! In a rather sombre mood, particularly having watched all the diesel trucks and buses belch their way into Lebanon, we fought our way back out of the border area. Our abandoned visit to Lebanon posed a slight problem – fuel. Syrian petrol has a low octane level and Florence simply will not run on it. Knowing we could pick up higher quality petrol in Lebanon we only had an additional 40 litres of Turkish petrol with us – it seemed we would be tucking into our emergency LPG supply rather earlier than anticipated.

On to Palmyra, the glorious 2nd century AD Roman city spread over 50 hectares of desert. We approached the modern town close to the ruins in the early evening – in my opinion the best time to arrive at a new location as the darkness gives an air of mystery. Stopping on the edge of the town we were accosted by a date seller who invited to his tent for tea. We sensed a sting but agreed anyway, thirsty after a long journey. But the sales pitch never came and we spent an enjoyable hours drinking tea, gorging ourselves on dates and watching an ancient television showing President Bush denounce the ‘axis of evil’ – a sign of things to come.

With desert all around us we had plenty of places to strike camp, although when you are close to a town you have to be careful not to park in the middle of someone’s vegetable plot and you can be sure that there will be someone who knows you are there. Early the following morning we were joined by an aged local who wanted to know why we hadn’t stayed at his house. How do you answer that?!

For once, driving a petrol vehicle was an advantage – Max and Vicky had to pay one week's ‘diesel tax’ of $100 on entry into Syria and if they remained in the country for just a few hours more than the week they had paid for they would incur another seven days tax. Understandably they wanted to get out before the deadline and this meant we had to squeeze our Palmyra sightseeing into just a few days. We managed to tick off the creepy Valley of Tombs, the huge Temple of Bel, the Long Street and the impressive castle perched on a hill close to the town. The latter appealed to the amateur archaeologists in Richard and Vicky who disappeared into the depths of the castle, reappearing an hour later muttering about hidden rooms and gloomy passageways. Richard’s announcement that a rat had run across his flip-flopped foot served to confirm that my choice to sit on the castle wall and admire the view had been the right one!

Next stop Damascus – an easy four-hour drive through the desert from Palmyra. As we approached the outskirts I could feel my blood pressure rising; I had to find the campsite and although I knew it was a few miles from the centre of town on the road to Homs I hadn’t yet discovered which road to Homs the guidebook meant. Happily luck was on our side as we sighted a sign proclaiming ‘campsite this way’! It turned out this wasn’t the campsite we were aiming for – that had closed a few years before – but who cares, we had arrived and after setting up camp we left our oasis of calm to brave public transport and search for somewhere to have supper.

The following day was retail therapy day and the Damascus souq was our target - back onto the bus for another terrifying drive into the city centre. The driving is, quite simply, demented; if there are traffic laws they seem to be entirely voluntary and the high number of breakers yards and vehicle workshops would indicate that this is a city with a high accident rate. The microbuses overflow with neon lights and the taxis have been creatively decorated by their owners, perhaps in an attempt to distract the passengers from the accident they are hurtling towards. In the middle of the sea of traffic can, occasionally, be seen a loan policeman oblivious to the fact that no one is taking any notice of his directions. Leaving our microbus we plunged headlong into the confusion and managed to cross the road unscathed and make our way towards the souq. A powerful smell of raw sewage hit us – our route was taking us over what was once a riverbed and now was an open drain, pile high with dried… well, your imagination can tell you. The presence of a JCB indicated that efforts were being made to clear the river – I don’t envy the driver!

If you visit Damascus a trip to the souq is a must. Endless alleyways crammed with shops – whatever you want to buy, someone will know where you can find it. It has become something of a tradition that we buy Florence a present from each country that we stop in – now it was time to find something for Brian the trailer, named after the Magic Roundabout snail. Spotting a shop selling fake plants I knew I had come to the right place and I emerged ten minutes later brandishing a bunch of bright pink, plastic flowers. But the others had more serious items on their shopping lists – rugs, prayer beads and backgammon boards. If you are buying rugs you need to take your time – and, that day, time was something we had plenty of. Locating the main carpet selling area in the souq we homed in on a shop we liked the look of, crammed full of traditional Bedouin rugs, Turkish kilims and beautiful Persian rugs way out of our price range. And so the carpet buying game began – plenty of tea and general chatter before starting on the serious business of selecting the right rug for the right price. A few hours later we made our selections – both parties had, of course, been robbed but deep down everyone was happy. The shop owner then announced he had an uncle with a backgammon board factory – but of course, who doesn’t? By the end of the evening our wallets were suffering and it was time to call a halt to the shopping. Getting all our purchases back to the campsite was going to be tricky on the bus – so a taxi was called and we were bundled in. This is where the prayer beads came in handy – anyone looking into the back of the car would have seen Max, Vicky and I staring wide eyed at the road ahead, frantically flicking through the beads; Richard, in the front passenger seat, had the best view of all as we hurtled towards impending doom. Non-existent suspension, bald tyres and a taxi driver with a penchant for testing the limits of his car combined to make a somewhat scary ride.

After a few more days in Damascus, spent shopping, sight seeing and generally enjoying the atmosphere, it was time to make our way to the border. Another easy crossing (long may it last) although there was some confusion over the fact that Richard and I have one Carnet for the Range Rover and another for the trailer - and it was actually supposed to make things easier!

Jordan at last - certainly one of our favourite countries from the last expedition. A couple of hours drive took us to the hills east of the Dead Sea where we camped above Hammamat Main hot springs, ready for an early morning dip. On to Aqaba and at last a chance to dive. We decided to go back to Japanese Gardens, a 'bedouin camp' about 8 miles south of Aqaba, on the coast road to Saudi Arabia. Of course the camp had changed a great deal over the past two years - to be expected - but we were really sad to discover that Jimmy, who had run the camp when we stayed there last, had left. As a consequence the camp had lost a lot of its character - which is why we were so overjoyed to find, on our second day in Aqaba, our very good friend Rakad, who had worked as a Divermaster at the Royal Diving Centre. He now works as a ranger for the Aqaba Marine Park and has been our saviour, helping to organise diving, introducing us to his friends and family and generally keeping us cheerful when things have not gone to plan... An interesting discovery for Richard and I is that Rakad is a relative of Auda Abu Taiya, made famous through his association with Lawrence of Arabia - we hope to be able meet some of his grandchildren and perhaps learn more about the man himself.

Jordan was the first country where we could concentrate on the Reef Check aspect of the expedition and, having obtained permission to dive and carry out the surveys from the Jordan Royal Ecological Diving Society prior to our departure from the UK, we had not anticipated any problems. How wrong could we be!

Formed in 2000, the role of ASEZA, the Aqaba Special Economic Zone Authority, is to protect and enhance the environment within a 375 square kilometre area and the environmental commission has 'assembled a team of dedicated and specially trained environmentalists committed to the environmental health of the Gulf of Aqaba'. Working in cooperation with ASEZA is the Aqaba Marine Park, established 'to conserve and manage the natural marine environment for sustainable tourism development along a seven kilometre stretch of Jordan's coastline'. With this in mind, you would think that both the Marine Park and ASEZA would be iquite nterested in the fact that we are here in Aqaba to conduct Reef Check surveys and help, in a small way, with marine conservation. Not a bit of it. In the words of Dr Selim, 'we do not need your help, there are already coral reef surveys ongoing in the Gulf of Aqaba, to do any more would be a complete waste of time'. So there. No negotiation. No apologies. At times we have felt that we are being treated as though we have arrived in Aqaba with the intention of destroying the coral reefs. So not only are we unable, currently, to carry out any surveys - we are also unable to dive unaccompanied and therefore, despite the fact that we are fully equipped for diving, we have to pay to dive through one of the local diving centres. We have one last glimmer of hope as Richard and I have organised a meeting with Dr Belal Al-Basheer who has responsibility for environmental affairs in Aqaba. Perhaps he will offer his support - time will tell.

On a more positive note the last three weeks have seen Max and Vicky complete their PADI Open Water and Advanced courses and both are now completely at home underwater. Max was thrilled to discover an army tank, sunk just off the beach in about five metres of water - his very own underwater playground. If our meeting with Dr Belal goes well then we will have enough time to put Max and Vicky's diving skills to good use before they return to the UK at the beginning of December.

After a few days staying at the Japanese Gardens we moved down onto the public beach where we have become something of a permanent feature - we have a constant flow of visitors, everyone from the local police to passing overlanders. A regular guest is Ahmed, a friend of Rakad's, and I am in the process of teaching him English, so far with great success. We have had many an enjoyable evening both on the beach and at his home with his wife, Amina, and their four children - their hospitality is wonderful and Amina's food makes a delicious change from our staple diet of bread, pasta and tuna!

In addition we have had a few international visitors - Mireille (Max's girlfriend - thank you again for my Marmite!) and Richard's father and sister. Unfortunately Howard and Lucy brought the Scottish weather with them and for the first couple of days we had thick clouds, howling wind, thunderstorms and torrential rain. An interesting introduction to camping for Lucy and Rakard's assurance that this was the first heavy rain he had seen in Aqaba for seven years did nothing to lift their spirits!

Since our arrival in the Middle East Vicky and I have developed over-eating alter egos, affectionately known as Thelma and Fatima. It is Thelma and Fatima who force us to eat vaste quantities of delicious food, particularly anything with a high fat and sugar content. We have been rather disturbed to find that our clothes have shrunk - it must have something to do with the heat...

12th November 2002

Max and Vicky have gone into Wadi Rum for a few days exploring and when they return we will, at last, have some good news - this morning's meetings with Dr Belal was a success and we have been given permission to carry out Reef Check surveys along the Jordanian coast. We will be working with the Aqaba Marine Park and over the next few days will finalise the diving schedule with the aim to begin the surveys at the beginning of next week....

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