After visiting Turkey we were ready to move on to Syria.
Our bus from Dogubayazit didn't arrive in Diyarbakir until midnight. So we spent the night in Diyarbakir and the next night stayed in Mardin. Both days there were spent running errands and getting ready for the border crossing.
To say we were apprehensive about going to Syria was an understatement. We had read all the State Department warnings, heard the advice from our friends and as we got closer to actually going in we got more nervous. What would it be like? Are there really crazed radicals running around everywhere?
We tried to ask the people in Turkey whether to cross at Qamishle (60 miles from Iraq) or go 6 hours West through the busy crossing near Aleppo. Nobody we asked knew English enough to help us and the few that knew any English shrugged their shoulders and said they knew nothing about it. We were going to have to decide without any good info.
We decided to go on blind faith and the info from our guidebook and cross at Qamishle, near the Iraqi border. We took a local bus from Mardin to the Turkish border town of Nusaybin. The hilly country of Mardin turned into flat desert with red dirt that blew everywhere and covered everything as we approached the Syrian border. The road paralleled the razor wire of the border fence. Every 100 feet on the Syrian side was a guard station with armed solders. We were stressing out because according to our guide book the border closed at 3PM and it was already 2:30PM. We thought we might have to spend the night on the Turkish side that night.
The bus dropped us off at the border gate. We walked through the guard station on the Turkish side and got our exit stamps. With dry mouths and beating hearts we walked to the Syrian side. We could see something going on on the Syrian side. Two guys were running from the border guards and were surrounded. We then heard gun shots and people were running.
We passed a Turkish guard who checked our passports. Seeing we had US passports he asked why we were going to Syria. "For tourism" we answered. "Why Syria?" he answered and shook his head, the screams of the men escaping the guards in the background.
At that moment we weren't sure. "Are you sure you want to cross here right now?" I asked Gaby. And she answered with a weak "yes". So we walked over to Syrian Immigration.
Steve
Our bus from Dogubayazit didn't arrive in Diyarbakir until midnight. So we spent the night in Diyarbakir and the next night stayed in Mardin. Both days there were spent running errands and getting ready for the border crossing.
To say we were apprehensive about going to Syria was an understatement. We had read all the State Department warnings, heard the advice from our friends and as we got closer to actually going in we got more nervous. What would it be like? Are there really crazed radicals running around everywhere?
We tried to ask the people in Turkey whether to cross at Qamishle (60 miles from Iraq) or go 6 hours West through the busy crossing near Aleppo. Nobody we asked knew English enough to help us and the few that knew any English shrugged their shoulders and said they knew nothing about it. We were going to have to decide without any good info.
We decided to go on blind faith and the info from our guidebook and cross at Qamishle, near the Iraqi border. We took a local bus from Mardin to the Turkish border town of Nusaybin. The hilly country of Mardin turned into flat desert with red dirt that blew everywhere and covered everything as we approached the Syrian border. The road paralleled the razor wire of the border fence. Every 100 feet on the Syrian side was a guard station with armed solders. We were stressing out because according to our guide book the border closed at 3PM and it was already 2:30PM. We thought we might have to spend the night on the Turkish side that night.
The bus dropped us off at the border gate. We walked through the guard station on the Turkish side and got our exit stamps. With dry mouths and beating hearts we walked to the Syrian side. We could see something going on on the Syrian side. Two guys were running from the border guards and were surrounded. We then heard gun shots and people were running.
We passed a Turkish guard who checked our passports. Seeing we had US passports he asked why we were going to Syria. "For tourism" we answered. "Why Syria?" he answered and shook his head, the screams of the men escaping the guards in the background.
At that moment we weren't sure. "Are you sure you want to cross here right now?" I asked Gaby. And she answered with a weak "yes". So we walked over to Syrian Immigration.
Steve
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