Bienvenue chez moi. C'est-à-dire nulle part.Night people.
We came back. We had to. Impossible to stay locked in a hotel when the world is calling. That's one of the traveller's rules : don't choose a hotel too comfortable. You have to go out. The ideal hotel has no Internet nor TV.
It's evening, and we head east, the only possible direction : the souq again. We spotted a great restaurant with a dreamy terrace-rooftop.
At night, Damascus' souq is much more alive, noisy, fun than during the day. It's still about selling and buying, but also taking walks, meeting, laughing.
One of the main attraction of the souq is this ice-cream joint.
Big success.
I know this pic is far from perfect, but it touches my heart. It reminds me of a smiling face of Syria, when the evening's big deal was a pistacchio chips-covered ice cream.
Those girls will turn out to be almost our only interlocutors in the whole country. They'll offer us the classical "where are you from" chat we'd been vaguely craving for.
Heading back to the hotel, the atmosphere has changed again. Much quieter. Not much noise anymore, just peaceful passer-bys.
Only a few possibly unauthorized sales keep the souq busy now.
Those puppets watch over us a little longer, hanged to Jupiter's temple columns.
Only traffic seems unchanged. I always got the feeling that while the world goes to sleep, a nomadic people keeps wandering the planet's arteries, just to keep it alive. Paradox.
