Flights to Damascus

I got here Friday night after an overnight flight to Paris and an overday flight to Damascus. The Paris plane was filled with middle aged American couples going abroad for the first time (well, there were two of these next to me). One couple had won there trip from a furniture store drawing. The other had just decided to up and go. "Where are you going?" they asked when I said I was connecting. "Syria," naturally got a stunned reaction. I've been told to be careful.

The Damascus flight left midday Paris. At the gate there were two American women dragging kids. One woman had four, from sullen, angry teenager to chubby four-year-old. The other looked like Nancy on Weeds and had two small girls. They chatted about how the kids liked Syria, how the older ones were pissed off to be returning, how the younger ones where fine with it, how maids have such disloyalty.

"I brought mine to the State in May and she ran off within the first month!"

"Are you serious? Will you get in trouble?"

"No, no, I reported her as soon as it happened."

"Let me tell you, they are not loyal. I've had a maid in Damascus 5 years and she's looking for another job! She's signed on for another year with me but is looking for another job during the year! No loyalty!"

"I know. If mine was planning to run off she could have at least stayed for most the summer!"

Oh, don't I know it. We landed late, bags took forever, the embassy driver took me to Sultan Hotel where the embassy had booked me a room ($22) a night. It was nine so I went wandering off in the streets to find an internet cafe and email my parents that I was alright. I'm alright.