Britt-Arnhild's House in the Woods

Spices from the souq of Aleppo flavouring my soups....and some aged olive soap.

Text and photos Britt Arnhild Wigum Lindland

The souq in Aleppo, from Lonely Planet:

Not as extensive as Cairo's Khan al Khalili or as grand as Istanbul's Grand Bazaar, Aleppo's souq is nonetheless one of the most atmospheric in the Middle East. Its appeal derives largely from the fact that it's still the main centre of local comerce. If an Aleppan housewife needs some braid for her curtains, a taxi driver needs a new seat cover, or the school kids need backpacks, it's to the souq that they all come. Little seems to have changed here in hundred of years, and while recent years have seen an increase in tourism, the local trade has yet to be replaced by sightseers.

Part of the souq date from the 13th cantury, but the bulk of what stands today belongs to the Ottoman era (largely 16th to 19th century). A walk through the souq could take all day, particularly if you accept invitations from the stall owners to stop for tea.

 
A walk in the souq could take all day..........and all we had was less than an hour. And all the time we had to walk together with the guide, together with the group. The guide knew the souq well though, and knew where to take us, where to make stops. Like near this stall selling herbs.

Oh my, how I longed to go wild there and then. Dive into the spices, perfume myself in the fragrances, dream myself into the kitchens of Aleppo where the housewives use these spices every day, and have done for centuries. It felt a little cowardish to stay so close to the guide and the rest of the group all the time. I should have followed my dreams and gone wild. Really I should!

Imagine the stories I could have told then.........

 
I did buy some small plastic bags of spices. Two types of pepper, "they go perfect together" the friend of the young seller told me. And he is right. I use them together now and get a taste of the Syrian kitchen in my Nordic Bluie Café dishes. Coriander........and regret all the spices I did not buy.....safron, cumin, allspice.........

Next time. There is always a next time, isn't there.........In real or in my dreams!

 
I made a vegetable soup the other day. Marta has been a vegetarian for three months now, I love the challenge of deciding what to make for dinner.

A carrot, some left over cauliflower, garlic, spring onion, half an onion, cellery, a piece of a squash. Boil for half an hour, add Syrian pepper mixture, coriander from the souq in Aleppo, salt from the saltmines outside Krakow in Poland, memories from west of the sun, east of the moon.

 
Terje, arriving home from a long day at work, warm from cycling up the long hills: "Mmmmmm, what a lovely smell in the house. What is there for dinner?"

Later, Marta, at the table: "Mamma, this soup tastes delicious."

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More from Lonely Planet:

One of the best things about Aleppo's fantastic souq is the olive soap. It's unique, handmade, decorated and 100% natural, being made of 90% olives and 10% bay laurel. And if it's good enough for the great queens of the Middle East (Cleopatra, Nefertiti, Sheba and Zenobia) it's good enough to pack away as a souvernir.

But not all soaps are created equal. The oldest highest.quality (and most expensive) soap is aged for eight years. The next quality down is aged for only three years and is best kept for the hair and body, while the cheapest soaps are only three months old and used just for your hands.....

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Lucky me, I have two Syrian masterly decorated pure olive soaps in my bathroom, patiently waiting in a glass bowl. I have no idea if they are three months, 5 years or 8 years, but it doesn't matter much. I am not going to use them yet, will keep them in the bowl for years, and put my nose down to them from time to time to smell them.....and to be taken right back to the souq.

A walk through the Bible (and a winner)

We are having a workshop in our church this week-end, a walk through The Old Testament. During 6 hours, three last night, three today, we learn the whole Old Testament history, and through movements and a very few words, we learn to remember it all. A lovely way of learning, of being together, of remembering the old story I've known since I was a child, of learning new details.

Abraham walked through Syria on his way to the promised land, and I am back there with all my senses. We drove through the desert, smelled the dry air, felt (through very slightly) the thirst, the burning sun, missed the colours in the light brown world of stones and sand, felt the hugeness, the emptiness which ended up not being empty at all when you looked close. We did not drive through the same desert where Moses and his people walked around for 40 years, but we were under the same sun.

The Bible is coming alive for me this week-end.

 
In Damascus we visited the church in Ananias' House, the place where Paul were taken after he was blinded. The dean of Nidaros cathedral, Ragnhild Jepsen, read for us from Acts 9.

And as he journeyed, he came near Damascus: and suddenly there shined round about his a light from heaven. And he fell to the earth, and heard a voice saying onto him, Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me? And he said. Who art though, Lord? And the Lord said, I am Jesus whom thouh persecutest: it is hard for though to kick agains the pricks. And he trembling and astonished said, Lord, what wilt thou have me to do? And the Lord said unto him, Arise, and go into the city, and it shall be told there what thou must do. And the men which journeyed with him stood speechless, hearing a voice but seing no man. And Saul arose from the earth; and when his eyes were opened he saw no man: but they led him by the hand, and brough him into Damascus. And he was three days without sight,and neither did eat nor drink.

And there was a certain disiple at Damascus, names Ananias; and to him said the Lord in a vision, Ananias. And he said, Behold, I am here Lord. And the Lord said unto him, Arise and go into the street which is called Straight, and inquire in the house of Judas for one called Saul of Tarsus: for, behold, he prayeth, and hath seen in a vision a man named Ananias  coming in, and putting his hand on him, that he might recieve his sight.......

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A bookwinner: Fran H-B, congratulations :-)

Glimpses from a travel diary

My travel diary follows me everywhere when I travel. In Syria it was a black Moleskin, right pages for writing, left pages for photos, tickets, recipes and so on. On the last morning I sat outside my hotel room in the fairy tale hotel, trying to write down a few impressions.

I didn't finish my travel diary while we travelled. It was never enough time for that. But I wrote down key words along the road to work from now.

Every night now I bring out the Moleskin to capture more memories. Words are important and so are my hundreds of photos.

A photo says more than a thousand words. Is that true? Well, I can agree to some degree, but I would never be without the words. To paint with them is my art.

What does this photo tell you?

 
And what about this one? The photo alone say nothing about a stop along the road because of stomack problems in the group, me out with my camera, a truck driver ready to leave saw me, gave me his most wonderful smile and with his hands told me that he wanted me to take his photo. Sweet memory from the blink of an eye.

Ready to walk the 380 steps up to Deir Mar Musa, a monastery in the desert north of Damascus which must get its own chapter one day.

Breakfast at Pullman hotel in Aleppo.

Praying time.......

....and here in The House in the Woods it is time to pack for another travel. This time I'll go with Terje and Marta.

See you tomorrow......somewhere else :-)

Arise and go into The Street Called Straight

"Arise and go into the street called Straight" The Acts 9,11. These were the words said by the Lord to Ananias when he wants Ananias to go out and find the blinded Saul, later to become Paul, or Paulus as we call him here in Norway. The first time I heard about the Street called Straight was in the Bible, but I had no idea this street still excist today. Then, a coupld of months ago, I found Damascus. Taste of a City by Rafik Schami and his sister Marie Fadel. As I told you yesterday, Rafik lives in Germany. His sister is still in Damascus and together, by the help of long phonecalls through a whole year, they wander the areas around the Street Called Straight together, he through his sister's words. Rafik shares their memories and talks in his book.

 
To visit the Street Called Straight was high up on my list when we finally arrived in Damascus by the end of our week. Saturday morning were spent sightseeing with our Syrian guide, we had lunch at a wonderful place near the Grand Mosque and then the guide took us to the bazaar and gave us 90 minutes to walk alone. Before leaving us in the middle of the bazaar he pointed out to a side street and said, "If you walk up here, the second street will be The Street Called Straight"

A friend and I decided to walk the 90 minutes together. First to buy Damascene table clothes, yes we did buy some great ones, but then we had no spesific plans "Why don't you come with me to The Street Called Satright" I said, "I so much want to see it, and hopefully we can find a coffee shop there where we can sit down"

We found the street easily enough. A busy shopping street, nothing at all how I had imagine The Street called Straight to be though, but........ We found a bench where we sat down and asked a man"Is there a coffee shop here?" There weas not.

Still I felt happy and content, I was in Damascus, I was inThe Street Called Straight. Life was good.

 
After a while we walked the street, up and down, just a little, but still, it was The Street Called Straight. Or was it not........

Back in the bazaar we still did not find a coffee shop, but ended up in a completely unromantic kind of place with plastic chairs and ugly tables. There we bought water and coke, and I dreamed of my cup of Arabian coffee. Time went fast, our 90 minutes were coming to an end, the whole week were coming to an end. We still had some Syrian money left and decided to buy scarves, my friend for his wife, I for myself. Back in the textile store where we had bought the table clothes there were hundreds of scarves. I fell in love with a soft one in silk, I wrapped it around my neck and both colour and texture made me feel like I was swimming in the Mediterranean Sea. Unfortunately I did not have enough money for it, instead I ended up with a second best beautiful scarf in pashmir and silk.

Later several things happened:

• our Norwegian guide who travelled with us told me that the street our Syrian guide had pointed out was not The Street Called Straight at all.....
• Preben in Denmark sent me a message: You have been to Damascus without telling me.......did you meet Amer? He has a shop on the corner of The Street Called Straight and the Annanias Street. Close to Baab Touma......
• I am back in Norway and dream of the ocean silk scarf

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I am glad I didn't make it to The Street Called Straight. I am glad I didn't meet Amer. I am glad I didn't buy the silk scarf.

Now I have three important reasons to go back to Syria.

Some day.

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And The Street Called Straight or not. I had a great afternoon.

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Photos: not from The Street Called Straight

Arabian Nights and the art of telling stories

Well, you all know that my most challenging moment come when I try do decide which books to pack for my travels. So it was also the days before I left for Syria. I have been buying quite a few books from and about Syria lately. Pile them together with the once I already had and it was easy to see that I could not pack them all. Add that the program for our week was filled to the brim already without reading time, and you can ask my why I bothered to pack more than one book.........I don't listen on that ear. Books are more important than clothes and toothbrush, aren't they? And we still had hours on planes and in airports.

Again and again I looked through my books, picked out one, two, three, decided against the first, found another one.........and knew that there was still a book I needed to buy for the trip - Arabian Nights, or 1001 Nights as we call it here in Norway.

The Middle East has a rich tradition of telling stories. A tradition I am afraid we are about to forget in the western world. The author Rafik Schami masters this old art today. He was born in Damascus in 1946 but went into excile in Germany in 1971. Damascus and Syria are still in his heart, and his books are like colourful jewels ready to wear on nights with friends. Arabian Nights.

In the Great Mosque in Damascus a man sat on the floor, the center of a group of people. Women to the left, men to the right. A storyteller I said to myself, and walked closer to get a photo. I imagined myself sitting at his feet, listening to his stories.

"Shia Muslems", the guide told me. "They come here almost every day to listen to religious educations".

One of the books I brouhjt with me, a book I always bring with me when I travel, was The new Testament. Back in my hotel room I sat down close to the feet of Jesus, listening to his stories.

I want to be like Martha. I want to be like Maria (Mary). I want to prepare the meals. I want to sit down near Jesus.

 

The Milkman

I have travelled different from what I use to this week. With a group, with a Norwegian guide and with a national Syrian guide following our footsteps from early morning till late night. We were 17 people in our group, all of us from the Church of Norway, we had only 5 days in Syria and we wanted to squeeze as much as possible into our days.

Of course we only managed small bits and pieces, even though we made our nights as short as possible. What I saw and experiences made me want to see more though. One of the first things I told Terje after I came home this afternoon was "Terje, one day I want the two of us to go to Syria or one of the other countries in the Middle East. I want to show you and experience it again with you."

There wasn't much time to walk around breathing in everyday life. Like I love to do for hours or days at a timne when I travel. But while walking from one place to another, just where you are there and then, glimpses can always be found, seen, lived, breathed.

Like when we passed this milkman in one of the narrow lanes of Damascus, outside Annanias' House. I stopped to take a photo and all of a sudden there were a dozen more cameras out.

The milkman beamed under the attention rays.

I collected an everyday memory for life.

Life on top of a pillar

Have you ever heard of St. Simeon Stylites, the young monk who in the 5th century climbed on top of a pillar and stayed there for 39 years? I had, but never in my wildest dreams did I find myself at the bottom of his pillar, looking up, wondering how his life must have been.

Well, some things are meant to happen, and one day this week I found myself on top of a Syrian hill, listening to our Syrian guide telling the story about St. Simean and also the story of the church which were later built around his pillar.

St. Simeons piller used to be around 12 meters on its highest, today it is less than three. Still it was a mighty feeling, standing there, inagine what the life of the stylite must have been.

I felt at peace while walking around among the ruins of St. Simeon's church, Deir Semaan. Clean, fresh, windy. A good time for thoughts, for prayers, for being. A local young boy walked aroubd, selling fresh figs, but he seemed too shy to ask us foreigners to buy any from him.

From the hill the view was amazing. My thoughts could fly for miles and miles in every direction. It was something complete and satisfying in walking around. Me and my thoughts. The 16 others in my group close by, good friends, colleagues. But in it all, in the closeness of the group, in the mightyness of nature and ruins and history.......it was my and The Creator.

 
The church, which was built around St. Simeon's pillar,is built like a cross, with the apse bent a littløe to the right, just like you can see the head of Christ bent on the cross.

 I could show you dozens of more photos, telling you a lot more from our visit. But it is time for breakfast here in my "Arabian Nights" hotel. I am hungry and I am eager for our day in Damascus to start.

See you!

Sorry, no time for blogging........

There has been no internet connection, no time for blogging. But A LOT of time to gather travel stories.

See you in a couple of days.

 

First glimpse

I made it to Damascus. Deep into the night, just three hours before breakfast, after a long, long day on planes and airports.

The bus will soon be here to pick us up for a day of exploring. But I still have time to show you my first photo, a coffee maker in a street in Damascus.

Quite cool, isn't it :-)