The Road to Bab Sharki

If i turn right outside St. Elias there is St. Paul's, an enormous church. Further down I can take a left through a narrow alley and hit the street markets where people set out blankets every day to hawk fresh produce. Cherries, tomatoes, bananas, potatoes, onions, cabbage–you know the drill. These markets pop up everywhere. The narrow streets swell with patrons and you sort of have to nudge and elbow your way through the swarm.

If I turn left I pass two flower shops and an internet cafe before quickly hitting St. Elias, another enormous church.

Parked across the street are a Cadillac limousine and two beautiful classic white convertibles which are rented out for weddings. When the party caravans down the street, the horn in front will be letting you know there's a wedding on–there'll be nothing subtle about it.

This is also about where the Service (shared taxi) pick up point is, which could take me to the Old City if I was ever too tired to hoof it.

Further along the way a few novelties catch my eye. A "Merry Christmas" Santa Claus plastered to a glass door in the middle of summer and a house above the street with a new coat of blue paint. Like any freshly painted exterior wall in Damascus it feels eerily out-of-place.

An outdoor shop selling intricate vases and mostly Greek-style statues features a nearly life-size Jesus with arms outstretched next to a portrait of the president.

There's hundreds of tiny shops everywhere. Always with barely enough room for two people to stand in. Selling sweets, toys, falafal, chicken, clothes and, possibly because this is a Christian and not a Muslim neighborhood, there are a few specializing in hard alcohol.

It's interesting to see what from Americana makes its way over here.

Coca-Cola, Spiderman, Superman, Batman and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles seem to be the biggest winners in terms of U.S. exports.

I pass a shop specializing in glittery women's t-shirts with oddly phrased witticisms in English, like: "You're not dream, I'm real!" and "Nobody Loves Me Because I'm Beautiful."

I pass the soon-to-be-opened restaurant–"La Vida Loca"–before wandering into the Greek Melkite cemetery.

A fly lands on one of the cherubs and doesn't budge even as I creep in to shoo it away. It's hot. The marble surface must be the coolest hangout it can find.

For a moment I'm envious.

Finally I reach the Bab Sharki gate which leads onto Straight Street, the Roman road mentioned in Acts 9:10-19.

If I make an immediate right down the first narrow street I can find this leads me past a shrine to St. Georges and all the way down to the House of St. Ananias.

If I instead make a right a few blocks down it takes me to Bab Touma, another gate into the Old City. I love Arabic tea and coffee, both of which are very strong and served in small shot glasses, but I won't lie: I'm relieved to find a place in Bab Touma that sells a good cup of Caramel Macchiato.

Along the way to Bab Touma I notice a poster for a Syrian theatrical production of the "Grand Inquisitor" by Fyodor Dostoevsky. Other posters I'm drawn to: a very modern ad for "Dj Snook". A poster relevant to the theory and practice of peace and nonviolence. And some graffiti I found in a back alley proving that adolescents are adolescent everywhere.

If instead of turning right I continue down Straight Street the quality of the road diminishes rapidly. Most of the street is torn up by construction, kicking up whirlwinds of dust and leaving at least three open pits where, if you happened not to look down as you walk, you could take a very nasty fall. In one section an excavator digs up the street as pedestrians try to squeeze past, hoping not to get crushed or shoved by it's giant hydraulic arm.

I keep walking and eventually reach the offices of the Patriarchate of Antioch and All the East, our partner here in Syria. Across the street is a posh restaurant that serves a dish with lamb drenched in cherry sauce (so good).

A little bit further down straight and I reach Khawali, another posh Damascene restaurant, just before reaching the Souks. The lobby is plastered with celebrity photos and I spot this one of John Kerry, which causes a sudden bout of momentary disorientation. Where am I again?

Syrians tend to keep a close eye on U.S. politics. When I was here in February, I fielded a lot of questions about Obama, serving, in an unofficial capacity, as his spokesman in Damascus (you owe me one, Barack).

Stepping out from Khawli, there's nothing left but hop over to the massive Ummayad Mosque or hit the Souks, reacquainting myself with the world's greatest ice cream parlor (IMHO), located, as I remember, somewhere vaguely down the road.

All in all, what I've described above is an area that can be explored over the course of a few hours. It's a walk I've been making pretty much everyday (I have the slowly callousing blisters to prove it).