The two Nepali guys were also heading towards Syria. Once in
Mersin, we decided to take a bus to Atakia on the Turkey-Syrian
border. If impossible to get a Syrian visa at the border, I wanted
enough time to remain on my Turkish visa to make alternative
arrangements. At Atakia, we located comfortable accommodations at
Sister Barbara’s, where we spent the night. After waking to one of the
Nepali guys fondling my breast, I yelled at him, took my stuff, and
moved to a locked dormitory for safety. The little bastard!
The following day, I packed up and cycled to the Syrian border and,
luckily, never reencountered the Nepalese guys.
Atakia, Turkey – Aleppo, Syria – 110 kilometres
Upon arriving at the Syrian border, I met four British motorbike riders
who were travelling overland to South Africa. They introduced me to
Ahmed, a tour guide who helped them obtain Syrian visas. Ahmed
was remarkably helpful, guiding me through the paperwork before
disappearing. Three hours later, I had my visa in hand and was on my
way to Aleppo, Syria. I felt incredibly lucky and grateful to have met
the motorbike riders and Ahmed.
My first thought upon cycling into Syria was, “What have I gotten
myself into?” Syria felt like an entirely different world, defined by its
distinct culture, language, landscape, cuisine, and architecture. Not
only was it a conservative Muslim and desert country, but it was also
one of the oldest inhabited regions in the world, with archaeological
finds indicating human habitation dating back 700,000 years.