Like going toe-to-toe with tanks in Saraquib, that was fun.
And skulking around with a keffiyeh around your face so people couldn’t recognise you as a westerner. That got edgy after a while.
Or when we passed a checkpoint who waved us straight through, although everyone in the car thought they were government militia.
In Syria you went from bored out of your mind to anxious, there was very little in between. It’s a peasant’s revolution being fought in the poorest parts of the country for now, and until they can get their hands on serious money or weapons it’s unlikely to change anytime soon. One thing’s for sure, though: Assad may control the ground with his tanks and brute force, but in the north he appears to have completely lost control of the people. In which case, he’s no longer president but just some cronie sat at the head of other cronies. When you look at the long and foul history of the Assad family, that’s about right.
Western media have lost interest in a story that doesn’t deliver instant thrills-per-page. Syria’s off the front page for now. We largely ignored Libya until Tripoli was on the cards, then we all rushed out there in our masses. Now journalists are stood in Turkey and Beirut ringing their hands saying it’s too dangerous to go inside, and so the story doesn’t get reported, and so media interest dries up. With the rebels now having to adopt more hit-and-run tactics (one rebel described it as “Tom and Jerry”) everyone’s waiting to see what the next big move will be.
Idlib province was very beautiful in a rustic kinda way, and the people were great, every meal a banquet and sometimes they’d keep you talking for five hours. If you weren’t politically-minded before you went in you sure were afterwards.
Here’s a few pics of pretty Syria and a couple of mates I made inside.
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Olive groves in Binnish. I brought back four litres of Syrian olive oil, and it’s delicious
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My good mate Steve on the right and his cousin, Ahmed
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The only proper espresso machine in Binnish – worth it’s weight!
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Spring flowers in Saraquib
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Baby wrapped up like a sausage roll in Taftanaz