On to Damascus via Doha
On way to Doha and Damascus by Qatar Air
05 Dec, 2005
I was rather foolish not to travel by Syrian Air in the first place, not only that both flights, Syrian air and Qatar Air, were departing at the same time, I also missed the opportunity to see the contingent which flies from Delhi to Damascus. I am told that most of them are transit passengers as Syrian Air offers one of the cheapest rates in the industry. But I did get to see what kind of people travel economy class in Qatar Air. Yes you guessed it right, they are laborers who go to work in the Gulf countries, either to Qatar or to other GCC countries. The contingent is mostly from Punjab and our Muslim brethren from various parts of the country. But this time I was surprised to hear the colloquial from our part of Bihar, North Bihar in the airport. When I boarded the plane they happened to be sitting just behind me. These were two young lads barely in their twenties and were accompanying a group from Nepal. Though Nepalese were looking a little bit scared and expressionless, but our Bihari guys were overwhelmed. When we took off, our friends at my back decided to fiddle with the in-house entertainment on board with headphones on. Naturally their pitch increased, though not realizing, and were rather surprised not to find any thing in Hindi, suddenly I heard a joyous exclamation, they had spotted Abhishek Bhachan, our small B! On the rest of the flight they were quiet having adapted to the local environs.
Breakfast was served, food was OK, Emirates is better. Our Punjabi guy in the front tried his orange juice with a spoon, but very soon adapted himself, had a gulp and finished it.
Reached Doha, wasn’t impressed at all, all around construction, they are preparing for the 2006 Asian Games. Inside the airport the whole thing was cramped but still organized, one could see lines all around, for information, in the food court, for checking in etc.
In Doha I also discovered that my I-mate had once again ditched me, somehow almost the full battery got discharged, all data was deleted and the battery was hot. I could do nothing, was barely able to send some messages and made one phone call to Igor, whom I was going to join in Damascus. He told me that they were staying at Hotel Semiramis, in down town Damascus. I sent an SMS to Dennis to try and book me there and also sent SMS to Neeta and Papa about safe arrival to Doha. But that was all, phone was almost dead.
Reached Damascus as per schedule, the contingent in the flight was mostly Arabs and a lot of mostly young Indonesian girls with scarves on. Food in the flight was total crap, I could finish it! I think all this big campaign of Qatar Airways, both in Moscow and in India is a big sham!
My first impression of Damascus airport was that of Soviet style airport structure. Believe me this was nothing, the immigration was worse, the first one who saw my passport said I had to go to Counter No. 1, I went there and gave him my passport and immigration form, the gentleman didn’t even look at the form and took my passport and said follow me. He took me to the immigration office to a room, where everybody was smoking. I was asked my purpose of visit and how long I was going to stay and what was my profession. They were not very satisfied by my replies and asked for some reference paper, I had none, as a result my passport was taken to another officer and I was standing in the corridor. I was accompanied by other fellow citizens, whose nationalities I could not guess, looked Arabs to me but then why were they stopped. So I was standing with an almost dead phone in my hand (only 9% of battery remaining) and that too with an erased telephone directory. At the same time Neeta was inquiring about my well being and was annoyed that I was not responding to her idea of going to Bihar for 4 days. I was helpless. I had to use 9% of battery to rescue myself, but I was able to send a SMS to Neeta that “I am stuck at the airport”. Thanks to the latest innovations, at least I have stopped keeping my conventional diary with telephones, actually its of no use as I very seldom update it. My memory level is good for telephone numbers, but don’t expect me to remember the whole directory! I remembered Igor’s telephone number and called him, you guessed it right – he was out of coverage. Now I didn’t remember Stroytransgaz’s office telephone number, a Russian company who had won a pipeline construction tender and I was going to qualify Welspun, an Indian Pipe supplier, for supplying in this project. But suddenly a miracle happened, the telephone directory reappeared on the screen and I called Mikhail Kourilov and informed him that I was stuck and that he should call the local Stroytransgas guy in Damascus that I might call him and seek help. The 9% had helped me to complete my minimum program, everybody was informed.
Suddenly this guy appeared with my passport and gave it to the officer in the room, it seems the passport had come from the Deputy of the authorities and now it had to go to the Chief with officer’s remark. So interview No. 2 started, again same questions, but this time he was prompting me the answers and was writing something in Arabic on a small piece of paper, he prompted me that I was a Petroleum engineer by profession, to which I said no, I said I was a businessman and a commercial guy not a technical guy. He didn’t understand me, but nevertheless wrote something and gave it to the messenger looking guy. He took my passport to the Chief and returned in 2 minutes asking my telephone numbers in Syria. I said I was staying in Semiramis Hotel, but he wanted the telephone number or any other telephone number. My problem was that not only that I didn’t know the telephone number of the Hotel, I wasn’t even sure whether Dennis had booked me there or not. As regards to the other telephone number of the local Stroutransgaz guy, Mr Naumenko, I didn’t speak to him so I was afraid to give his number. So as a result I told him that I could not give him any number, he was surprised looked at me and said that I had to wait outside till the Chief signs my entry, it could take 5 min, 10 min or something more. Again I was in the corridor, looking at my I mate with 5% battery remaining and strange warnings coming out of it. While standing I could see that these whole group of Indonesians was sitting with immense composure and a Lebanese girl, who was also in the flight was wandering here and there, her passport was also in several hands, though I couldn’t understand the pretext. After standing for 20 minutes a man appeared and I could figure out that he was holding my passport in his hands, thanks to the passport holder, sometimes it helps! I stopped him and said that he was holding my passport, he then brought me to the Counter No. 1, from where the whole story started. This again asked me, how long was I going to stay and what was my profession. He then gave me an exit card and I could leave!!!!!!!!
Great feeling, thanks to 15 years in Russia that I didn’t leave my cool and had patience. A combination of holding an Indian Passport and staying so many years in Russia really helps sometimes. I know so many people who could have lost their cool long time back. I now reckon that it is because of our brethren from South Asia, who would easily make Damascus their entry point into mainland Europe that the Immigration guys are so strict, I could understand them but that didn’t help me at all! But one could easily feel the Soviet legacy they have in public dealing, no smiles, expressionless and smoking away to glory, everywhere. So Indian friend if you have to visit Damascus, do your homework!
After taking luggage I took a local SIM card and was found surrounded by taxi drivers, every one wanted to take me to the town. I decided to go for the official taxi, He charged by 500 Syrian Pounds for an 18 KM ride to downtown, to Semiramis Hotel.
Judging by the speed limit on the airport highway to be 110, the traffic was kind of OK. I can only compare this speed limit to Germany! Most of the cars were old, some very old but one could see the fondness for 7 series BMW and the French legacy brought in some 607 Peugots.
In the downtown I could spot a few places, restaurants I mean with Belly dancing. I am told you have Belly dancers from Ukraine and Russia!
Checked into a hotel, it was a moderate 4star hotel, for US$ 80 + 10% tax. Also has a restaurant at the 7th floor roof top with belly dancing till 2 AM. I am told this is normal that Syrians love to go out till very late.
A local call which I made to a contact in the Syrian Gas company said it would be fine if I would call him between 10 PM and 11 PM today. This guy turned up to meet me at midnight, I was rather surprised, whether it was a special courtesy extended to me or was it just normal Syrian way of meeting a stranger at midnight. Any body’s guess! This guy, Ibrahim had studied in Moscow’s Gubkin Oil and Gas Institute and had completed his course in 1981, was a little nostalgic and was sorry that he couldn’t visit Moscow since that time. He was optimistic that since this new contract was signed with the Russian construction company, now there will be a chance to visit the city where he spent his youth.
Once the gentleman was gone and I was all ready to rock but was alone. Not many times have I wandered alone and Damascus was certainly not the place to do this. I decided to stay in the hotel, went to the room but was distracted by loud music from the 7th floor. The belly dance was calling me, I took the call. The manager was surprised to hear that I was going to be alone tonight, after much pondering he allotted me a corner seat and was pleased to serve me vegetarian food. In any case most of the Syrian starters are vegetarian only, a mix of hummus and stuff. Later on I was to come to know that actually there is not much variety in Syrian food. The menu is more or less the same everywhere but the taste may vary from place to place. After having a couple of beers, I began enjoying the evening. Belly dance was very good and was performed by a local girl, till now I had only seen Ukrainian or Russian girls perform this art, even in Dubai. This girl was enjoying her performance and had enthralled and engulfed the whole audience with her. I left a little before the show was to finish.
Next day morning, the gang from Russia had arrived, we met during breakfast and again Ibrahim came.
05 Dec, 2005
I was rather foolish not to travel by Syrian Air in the first place, not only that both flights, Syrian air and Qatar Air, were departing at the same time, I also missed the opportunity to see the contingent which flies from Delhi to Damascus. I am told that most of them are transit passengers as Syrian Air offers one of the cheapest rates in the industry. But I did get to see what kind of people travel economy class in Qatar Air. Yes you guessed it right, they are laborers who go to work in the Gulf countries, either to Qatar or to other GCC countries. The contingent is mostly from Punjab and our Muslim brethren from various parts of the country. But this time I was surprised to hear the colloquial from our part of Bihar, North Bihar in the airport. When I boarded the plane they happened to be sitting just behind me. These were two young lads barely in their twenties and were accompanying a group from Nepal. Though Nepalese were looking a little bit scared and expressionless, but our Bihari guys were overwhelmed. When we took off, our friends at my back decided to fiddle with the in-house entertainment on board with headphones on. Naturally their pitch increased, though not realizing, and were rather surprised not to find any thing in Hindi, suddenly I heard a joyous exclamation, they had spotted Abhishek Bhachan, our small B! On the rest of the flight they were quiet having adapted to the local environs.
Breakfast was served, food was OK, Emirates is better. Our Punjabi guy in the front tried his orange juice with a spoon, but very soon adapted himself, had a gulp and finished it.
Reached Doha, wasn’t impressed at all, all around construction, they are preparing for the 2006 Asian Games. Inside the airport the whole thing was cramped but still organized, one could see lines all around, for information, in the food court, for checking in etc.
In Doha I also discovered that my I-mate had once again ditched me, somehow almost the full battery got discharged, all data was deleted and the battery was hot. I could do nothing, was barely able to send some messages and made one phone call to Igor, whom I was going to join in Damascus. He told me that they were staying at Hotel Semiramis, in down town Damascus. I sent an SMS to Dennis to try and book me there and also sent SMS to Neeta and Papa about safe arrival to Doha. But that was all, phone was almost dead.
Reached Damascus as per schedule, the contingent in the flight was mostly Arabs and a lot of mostly young Indonesian girls with scarves on. Food in the flight was total crap, I could finish it! I think all this big campaign of Qatar Airways, both in Moscow and in India is a big sham!
My first impression of Damascus airport was that of Soviet style airport structure. Believe me this was nothing, the immigration was worse, the first one who saw my passport said I had to go to Counter No. 1, I went there and gave him my passport and immigration form, the gentleman didn’t even look at the form and took my passport and said follow me. He took me to the immigration office to a room, where everybody was smoking. I was asked my purpose of visit and how long I was going to stay and what was my profession. They were not very satisfied by my replies and asked for some reference paper, I had none, as a result my passport was taken to another officer and I was standing in the corridor. I was accompanied by other fellow citizens, whose nationalities I could not guess, looked Arabs to me but then why were they stopped. So I was standing with an almost dead phone in my hand (only 9% of battery remaining) and that too with an erased telephone directory. At the same time Neeta was inquiring about my well being and was annoyed that I was not responding to her idea of going to Bihar for 4 days. I was helpless. I had to use 9% of battery to rescue myself, but I was able to send a SMS to Neeta that “I am stuck at the airport”. Thanks to the latest innovations, at least I have stopped keeping my conventional diary with telephones, actually its of no use as I very seldom update it. My memory level is good for telephone numbers, but don’t expect me to remember the whole directory! I remembered Igor’s telephone number and called him, you guessed it right – he was out of coverage. Now I didn’t remember Stroytransgaz’s office telephone number, a Russian company who had won a pipeline construction tender and I was going to qualify Welspun, an Indian Pipe supplier, for supplying in this project. But suddenly a miracle happened, the telephone directory reappeared on the screen and I called Mikhail Kourilov and informed him that I was stuck and that he should call the local Stroytransgas guy in Damascus that I might call him and seek help. The 9% had helped me to complete my minimum program, everybody was informed.
Suddenly this guy appeared with my passport and gave it to the officer in the room, it seems the passport had come from the Deputy of the authorities and now it had to go to the Chief with officer’s remark. So interview No. 2 started, again same questions, but this time he was prompting me the answers and was writing something in Arabic on a small piece of paper, he prompted me that I was a Petroleum engineer by profession, to which I said no, I said I was a businessman and a commercial guy not a technical guy. He didn’t understand me, but nevertheless wrote something and gave it to the messenger looking guy. He took my passport to the Chief and returned in 2 minutes asking my telephone numbers in Syria. I said I was staying in Semiramis Hotel, but he wanted the telephone number or any other telephone number. My problem was that not only that I didn’t know the telephone number of the Hotel, I wasn’t even sure whether Dennis had booked me there or not. As regards to the other telephone number of the local Stroutransgaz guy, Mr Naumenko, I didn’t speak to him so I was afraid to give his number. So as a result I told him that I could not give him any number, he was surprised looked at me and said that I had to wait outside till the Chief signs my entry, it could take 5 min, 10 min or something more. Again I was in the corridor, looking at my I mate with 5% battery remaining and strange warnings coming out of it. While standing I could see that these whole group of Indonesians was sitting with immense composure and a Lebanese girl, who was also in the flight was wandering here and there, her passport was also in several hands, though I couldn’t understand the pretext. After standing for 20 minutes a man appeared and I could figure out that he was holding my passport in his hands, thanks to the passport holder, sometimes it helps! I stopped him and said that he was holding my passport, he then brought me to the Counter No. 1, from where the whole story started. This again asked me, how long was I going to stay and what was my profession. He then gave me an exit card and I could leave!!!!!!!!
Great feeling, thanks to 15 years in Russia that I didn’t leave my cool and had patience. A combination of holding an Indian Passport and staying so many years in Russia really helps sometimes. I know so many people who could have lost their cool long time back. I now reckon that it is because of our brethren from South Asia, who would easily make Damascus their entry point into mainland Europe that the Immigration guys are so strict, I could understand them but that didn’t help me at all! But one could easily feel the Soviet legacy they have in public dealing, no smiles, expressionless and smoking away to glory, everywhere. So Indian friend if you have to visit Damascus, do your homework!
After taking luggage I took a local SIM card and was found surrounded by taxi drivers, every one wanted to take me to the town. I decided to go for the official taxi, He charged by 500 Syrian Pounds for an 18 KM ride to downtown, to Semiramis Hotel.
Judging by the speed limit on the airport highway to be 110, the traffic was kind of OK. I can only compare this speed limit to Germany! Most of the cars were old, some very old but one could see the fondness for 7 series BMW and the French legacy brought in some 607 Peugots.
In the downtown I could spot a few places, restaurants I mean with Belly dancing. I am told you have Belly dancers from Ukraine and Russia!
Checked into a hotel, it was a moderate 4star hotel, for US$ 80 + 10% tax. Also has a restaurant at the 7th floor roof top with belly dancing till 2 AM. I am told this is normal that Syrians love to go out till very late.
A local call which I made to a contact in the Syrian Gas company said it would be fine if I would call him between 10 PM and 11 PM today. This guy turned up to meet me at midnight, I was rather surprised, whether it was a special courtesy extended to me or was it just normal Syrian way of meeting a stranger at midnight. Any body’s guess! This guy, Ibrahim had studied in Moscow’s Gubkin Oil and Gas Institute and had completed his course in 1981, was a little nostalgic and was sorry that he couldn’t visit Moscow since that time. He was optimistic that since this new contract was signed with the Russian construction company, now there will be a chance to visit the city where he spent his youth.
Once the gentleman was gone and I was all ready to rock but was alone. Not many times have I wandered alone and Damascus was certainly not the place to do this. I decided to stay in the hotel, went to the room but was distracted by loud music from the 7th floor. The belly dance was calling me, I took the call. The manager was surprised to hear that I was going to be alone tonight, after much pondering he allotted me a corner seat and was pleased to serve me vegetarian food. In any case most of the Syrian starters are vegetarian only, a mix of hummus and stuff. Later on I was to come to know that actually there is not much variety in Syrian food. The menu is more or less the same everywhere but the taste may vary from place to place. After having a couple of beers, I began enjoying the evening. Belly dance was very good and was performed by a local girl, till now I had only seen Ukrainian or Russian girls perform this art, even in Dubai. This girl was enjoying her performance and had enthralled and engulfed the whole audience with her. I left a little before the show was to finish.
Next day morning, the gang from Russia had arrived, we met during breakfast and again Ibrahim came.
posted by Amrendra at
2:00 PM
1 Comments:
details are crucial...
we have to do this excercise in the first year... its called an 'actuality report'... we taken to a location and are supposed to write whatever percieves our eye... or happens to us... its great fun if one loves writing... and very good excercise for script writing and stuff... this entry totally reminded me of that...
and also that...
"there is so much reality out there... that you don't need fiction..." - J.G. Ballard
By
Witch-Hazel, at 3:29 PM
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