Borderline case

I made it! I'm in!!

Greetings from Aleppo, Syria. I have to say this border crossing was one of the strangest ones I have ever undergone! After the 9 hour night bus from Cappadocia to Antakya near the Syrian border, there is a further 100km bus ride from Antakya to Aleppo in Syria.

On the way to the border we overtook a tourist on a bicycle with a huge French flag fluttering behind her bike. What a slow way of getting around I though as we flashed past with the air conditioning blazing. However 30 minutes into the journey our bus broke down at a place of scenic un-interest as shown in the picture above. After a mere two hours of tinkering under the hood, bus boys being ferried to and from by various cars and military trucks, we got "Lucy the missing bolt" installed and continued on our merry way towards the border. Of course by this time the French lady on her bike had long ago overtaken us and was no doubt pedaling like the wind half way through Syria.

At the border there were several heated discussions between the bus boys & driver and various Turkish officials. In one instance the arguing parties chased each other out of the bus, all around it, peeked briefly under the hood and then continued up and down the street - all the time with dynamic hand movements and very loud and quarrelsome Arabic shouted back and forth. I cleverly deduced that our bus crew was Syrian, since once we had crossed the border the interaction with officials changed radically, consisting of hugs, kisses and seemingly random stops in the middle of the road for some small talk with friendly officers.

However before we got to Syria there was the actual border crossing. All went according to plan - myself and a Georgian couple being the hitch, since we were the only people on the bus, who were getting our visas at the border. Again lots of dynamic body language and seeming verbal abuse between the bus personnel and the officials, queuing for a total of 5 different counters and finally, the Finn was in!

As I headed towards the waiting bus leaving the Georgians and championing bus boys behind, I spotted a tempting toilet - Ooooh, yes please after those hours on the bus! If I hurry I'll just and just have time before the Georgians arrive and the bus leaves. What's this? No handle on the door, just a spoon stuck in the handle grip hole. Oh, if I turn the spoon the door opens anyway, so let me just shut this door behind me... slam.
The above is a good example of what not to do. So exactly 1,2 minutes after I entered Syria I was stuck in the ladies toilet, the door firmly shut, no handle on the inside and the gentle tinkle of a tea spoon from behind the door ringing in my ears as it popped out of the handle hole at the force of my slamming the door shut. (My friend Pipa had a toilet door without a handle for many years, and has managed to break out of her own toilet with nail scissors on at least one occasion. Unfortunately I was not packing nail scissors, so the knowledge didn't help me much).

Universal communication skills lesson number one: after exactly 1,2 minutes of Arabic studies, explain your strange dilemma and instruct a pack of laughing Syrian border patrol men on the spoon trick through a 10cm wide ventilation window.

Finally back on the bus. Freedom! The warm wind of Syria in my hair... that is until the bus ran out of fuel.
Ladies and Laddies, welcome to Syria!