It’s a hot summer day in Damascus. I decide to start early, but Syrian hospitality and friendliness of Omar’s neighbours keep me drinking one last cup, again, one more cup of coffee before I go. Ali, the neigbours boy, and me are making pictures for the photo album, a good bye to the mother, who – as experienced the first time in this country – has no doubt of talking to me openly. It felt like she adopted me from the first day on.

Imagine a Syrian woman, bringing you coffee early in the moring without ever asking, and some hours later, coming back with big plates of salad, just for the traveler who’s hosted by the neigbours’s son. It seems to be the most normal thing in the world.

After a sad good-bye, I’m waiting just seconds to get a ride out of Damascus. A couple going somewhere, me on the back of the pickup. Syria‘s overwhelming countryside passing by, and some rides later I’m back on the road, making my way down to the Damascus-Aleppo highway.

It’s a bit harder to hitchhike on Fridays, because most people might be out in the mosque for the prayer. Only a few taxi drivers are driving around, even minibusses are rare.

Several rides follow: One guy offers me a coffee and let’s me out at a police station, where he talks to the the officers. They want to stop a minibus for me, but after explaining my intention of hitchhiking, they stop a truck for me. Everyone  seems to know everybody, or is it just ordinary friendliness? I’m overwhelmed.

This reminds me about a ride I got some days before by a Syrian army officer just out of Damascus in direction Daraa. After the usual phrases - “Welcome to Syria” – “Yes, Germany; No, not married” we soon talk about the army and the dudes from Disneyland. Sure, Micky Mouse is bad, but he’s sick of the conflict and just wants to live in peace. If he is going to fight, if there my be another senseless conflict? “Definitely”, his answer is. Seconds later, my driver is offering me bonbon’s and gives me a shower with his awful smelling deodorant. Of course, before he has to get off at his ramp, he forces a truck to stop along the highway, talks some Arabic to the driver, and manages me a ride some kilometers further. Shake hands and a fast good-bye! So you might assume that hitchhiking a ride is the most usual thing in Syria. You’re wrong.

A lot of drivers did not really understand the idea of hitchhiking, or as I always tried to say, “autostop“. Most of them thought I want to stop a minibus, not getting any idea why the hell a – in their eyes – rich Westerner is standing on that side of the road. 40 degrees above zero, the burning sun on the head, a big backpack; for most people down there in Syria this looked like suicide.

To avoid my soon-to-come dead, they picked me up, of course. Trying to help me, to bring that poor, ignorant guy to the next minibus station. But this guy doesn’t even wants to go there, and even smiles and thanks the driver when he gets out at the next crossing in the middle of nowhere. There we have the dilemma of hitchhiking in Syria.

People often ask me why I’m hitchhiking. Why accepting so much danger (in their eyes) just to get from A to B for free. What I found out talking to many different hitchers, everyone seems to have a slightly different point of view on this. For my part, I’m hitchhiking because then I can see the world from a totally different view. People talk about their knowledge, their ideology, their life. This is the best school of education one can have. But the most important thing is that the people pick me up by their own choice, not because they think that I’m in danger or need help. This seems like cheating to me, getting rides because of some people’s good deed of helping someone that is in need. Of course, when standing at some village in the rain, or at the on-ramp on my way to my University, I’m in need of getting a ride, but that’s not what is happening in Syria.

Many people in Syria help other people in need because they love to, because they are raised like this. Because they believe their god is watching them all the time. Because of a lot of reasons, but not always because they just want to have some company, to talk someone with, to give someone ‘just a ride’ as it might be usual in the Western world I’m coming from. Most times, it’s because they think you need help, because, as said before, they think you might cause suicide sooner or later standing there in the heat.

So what to do then? Not going on with hitchhiking in the Middle East? Better taking the bus, which mostly really costs nothing for a Westerner? A dilemma.

For my part, I would hitchhike in Syria anytime again. Due to the facts described above one could disadvice this, but how could I have met such kind of diversity of the country’s people in such a short time? I hitchhiked with Palestinian and Iraqi refugees, tribal leaders, army officers, Kurds, Sunni, Alawis, Druze, Christians, etc.,  listened to the hottest Arabic pop music as well as to the latest stuff by religious preachers, met so many friendly police officers that managed me to find a ride, ate grapes together with Syrian soldiers at the controversial border of the Golan Heights which are still occupied by another nation, hitchhiked with rich Syrians as well as poor citizens, heard funny anecdotes about the country and its history as well as horrible things that also happen over there if you differ from the “governments” opinion, and whatelse I already forgot.

In the end, someone will not miss the visit to this – in some ways oppositional – country. And at last I guess that nearly all drivers who took me for just some kilometers up through the whole desert haven’t been disappointed, too. Who knows when those friendly guys will ever have the chance again to cruise around with some German guy that is interested in their country?

Tags: Syria