A frenchman in "before" Syria. 5.

Mosque.

I am an atheist, a godless man. I have no religion and I don't miss it. I am part of the community who says it is no community. As a child, I used to think that I would see religion disappear. Not by my hand, mind you. Time passed, and watching the world and those who walk it, I accepted I was wrong. Neither in my time, nor by my hand. Religion lasts and endures, even without me. I learned to understand what created it, the famous etymology, the bond between all and each other. It didn't explain me the pyres, the martyrs, the tortures, the hatred. But I understood.

I come from a country where, wether you rejoice or regret it, churches are empty. More than 95% of them. Most of them are very beautiful, and they still inspire silence to those who visit them, maybe a remaining strength of its past viguor. No doubt also that the old times architects knew how to build silence. Nowadays churches are battleship skeletons. You can guess the life they used to shelter, and you enjoy the cold wrapping silence when walking through them.

Middle eastern mosques, for many historical, social, religious and political reasons, or mixes of all the former reasons, are well alive, and for many of them, still buzz as old times churches used to do when they were young : in a messy way. 

During the day, you can't miss the Umeyyad mosque. 

Even outside it's doors, its spirituality seems to radiate. 

Inside, even the believer is a tourist. 

***

Night left an even deeper impression on me. It's beauty joined the stones, and the stars echoed with children laughs.

So here it is. That's how Damascus felt back in 2010. That and surely much more than that, but the twists and turns of our trip didn't leave us much time to explore. A rugged first impression, no doubt, but an intense and dense life, a life that didn't seem to care much for us, wanderers, witnesses, peepers, exoticists, tourists. After more turns and twists, we came back to Syria, to Aleppo this time.