Nusaybin

I left for Nusaybin after copying my photos onto CDd's for the second time this trip. I have taken about 1,200 photos so far. I also got some passport photos taken as I'd read the Syrians might need two for the visa. Oddly enough, getting ten made (for eight lira) was only two lira more expesive than getting six made, and it was not possible to get just two or three.

On the way to Mardin the bus spent quite along time driving along the border. I was surprised to see how militarised it was, with a wire fence and sentry posts cutting through the semi-desert. I hadn't thought it would be so fortified. Was this a legacy of Turkish suspicions from when Syria was supported by the USSR, or a reflection of Turkish wariness at its current authoritarian, military regime. Or maybe the fence is Syrian? As far as I know, a dispute is ongoing over the land around Antakya (ancient Antioch) to the west. Is that enough to justify this excessiveness? Maybe its meant to divide the Kurds, too.

When I arrived in Nusaybin I was directed towards the border, thankfully only about 200m away. At the first Turkish checkpoint I was able to ask an English speaker to enquire if I could get a visa. The immediate response, as I feared it might be, was that I neeeded to go to the Syrian consulate in Antep 300 km to the west. I asked if she was sure, since I knew this whole visa question was fraught with uncertainty and conflicting accounts. I was ready to lean on the fact I'd been living in Slovakia for the past few years, something I could even prove. Slovakia, I was sure, had no Syrian Embassy, so maybe they'd let me in after all. She said that she didn't know. After saying a few words to the official, I was waved through to Syria. It was not their problem after all. Their job was to get rid of me, not enable my entry to another land.

As I walked the 150 m towards the final checkpoint, I imagined feeling how in a more intense place and time I might be shot at for trying to cross a border without the proper papers.

Since I didn't want to leave the country today, I knew I shouldn't get a Turkish exit stamp, so I walked past Turkish passport control and managed to get a Turkish police officer to understand I needed a Syrian visa. I walked over to the Syrian policeman that he pointed at. Young, moustached and Arab-looking, at first, flicking through my passport, he looked worried and shook his head. Then, luckily enough, the same lady who'd helped me earlier explained my situation. He took my passport (!) and crossed back into the Syrian side behind the dividing iron gate. So it seemed, there was hope and he had gone to photocopy and fax my passport page and make enquiries about a visa. Up to now I'd basically thought it would be a no go and that I was only making sure. This was the first time I realised, shit, this might actually work. So much for Georgia and Armenia, a part of my heart plaintively sighed.

Another rather plump, very smiley Syrian appeared, his superior I presumed. He was confused by my passport. He seemed to think my name was 'Jonathan Mark'. Well, that's a part of it, but I supposed he thought that was my surname, so I stressed, no, my family name is 'Tillotson'. I'm not sure he understood. Then he asked what my Father and Mother's names were, though again was more interested in their first names than Tillotson. He was also unsure about the 'Ireland' section of 'and Northern Ireland' at the end of the absurdly long, official name of my country. He seemed to think I might be Irish. My saying I was English or British didn't clarify matters much, perhaps because there is no mention of 'England' in the country's name, only something called 'Great Britain'. What then was the 'United Kingdom' bit, they might have been thinking. Finally, he managed to get me to understand that he wanted to know my profession by saying 'work?'. When I said teacher he beamed with an enormous smile and recoiled as if very impressed. He then disappeared and about 10 minutes later returned with my passport and told me I could come to Syria whenever I wanted, even today if I'd like.

Back at the first checkpoint a Turkish soldier asked to see my passport. I tried to explain I hadn't come from Syria and so wouldn't have a Turkish entry stamp. Not sure if he understood or not, but I was shortly let through into Nusaybin.

Slightly elated at this turn of events I thought I might as well prepare as soon as possible, so went to a bank to change some money. The bank couldn't give me any Syrian money, only Euros or dollars. Luckily a Woman told me dollars are good in Syria, not Euros. I didn't know then if you could change Turkish money in Syria, so thought I'd better have some dollars. Curious isn't it, that the dollar is the international currency of choice in a country maligned as a state sponsorer of terrorism by the US Government. Presumably this is becasue oil is sold in dollars, and that money trumps politics, especially if you are demeaned by a superpower against whom you are powerless.

Very charmingly I was offered some tea as I waited for the man who dealt with currency exchange to return from lunch. Never before have I been offered a tea in a bank, well except by the ones I've taught in in Slovakia. Well, there was that time I was 17 and a girl at the Alliance and Leicester asked me if there was anything else I wanted. I said 'Well, I'll have a black coffee if you're offering' at which my friends Tim and Robin burst into embarrassed laughter. I'm not sure she understood me, and looked slightly puzzled.

Back at Mardin I bought Todays Zaman again and took tea on the roof of another of the expensive boutique hotels. Before turning in I met Carlos, a Spaniard who'd just arrived at the inglorious Otel Baskan and was sleeping on the roof. Oddly enough I'd never seem him before, but he had seen me twice, both at the Karadut pension and while I was swimming in the pool with the Aussie girls in Goreme. Well, I've never been the most observant of people. Well, maybe of some things, but evidently not of Spaniards.