Its August 2014. The middle of summer. I arrived to southeast Türkiye for the first time for a job working on the humanitarian response to the crisis in Syria. The conflict was not yet at its peak, but the damage and impact was palpable and increasing. When I arrived, foreigners had only recently been stopped from crossing into Syria, after a series of kidnappings from the various terrorist groups present there. ISIS was an extremely concerning and growing threat.
I lived in Türkiye for 3.5 years. And in those 3.5 years, Syria, as a context, as a people, as a country, dove into my soul. But yet, I was never able to travel inside of Syria, to actually see the projects I worked on. Maybe it was that I couldn’t visit, or maybe something more, but Syria never departed from my heart and mind.
Ten years later, in mid-2024, I was living in Amman, Jordan and having one of those (many) existential crises about life. What is next, where should I live, what do I want to do… you know the drill. I was still working on the Syria humanitarian response, in a different role and with a different organization, and Syria was still deep in my heart.
At that time, I’d been able to visit a few areas in that were not controlled by the Syrian government, but living in Syria, seeing the cities of Damascus and Aleppo, was not an option. Still… when I thought about where I wanted to be, I had a little niggling in my head – Damascus. That was where I wanted to go.
Damascus. Described by Mark Twain (in 1869!) as “the ‘Pearl of the East’, the pride of Syria, the fabled garden of Eden, the home of princes and genii of the Arabian Nights, the oldest metropolis on Earth, the one city in all the world that has kept its name and held its place and looked serenely on while the Kingdoms and Empires of four thousand years have risen to life, enjoyed their little season of pride and pomp, and then vanished and been forgotten”.
However, because I’d been working for the last 10 years in areas that the government did not control, this dream to travel there was a dream that I quelled. I knew that under that government, I would never be let into the country, let alone allowed to live there. In my logical mind, I would visit Damascus when I was in my 60s. Or older. Maybe.
Reality sets in. And I start to think of different plans.
And then. and then…
December 8th happens. The old government, the dictatorship of the last 50+ years falls. Unexpected from all (including the armed group itself!). I remember on that day, a Sunday, I sat in shock for most of the day. It took most of the day for the tears to come. The potential to come for this country I’ve dedicated so much of my life to was just beginning.
At that time, I was already transitioning out of my job, trying to figure out what was next. This meant that travelling there with work was off the table. So I sat, watching, reading, talking with Syrian friends and colleagues, about what was happening, what was to come.
Until I just couldn’t sit anymore.
If I didn’t have an organization to support me to go, I would just go on my own.
Given that I’d worked on Syria, with Syrians for so long, I felt confident enough to take the risk, to go to this ancient, historical city that I’d been hearing about for almost all of my life. Which I finally – FINALLY – could see.
So I went! It took me a few weeks in January to organize the trip. I connected with friends and colleagues who gave me the contact of a driver in Syria who could pick me up at the border, and travel with me around the city while I got my bearings. To get to the border of Jordan and Syria, I arranged travel with a different driver. I messaged a hotel (recommended by another friend) through WhatsApp to book my accommodation. The rest, I knew I would just figure it out as I went along.
On 1 February 2025, I received my first passport stamp to Syria. I checked into my hotel and almost immediately went to the Old City. I stayed for 3 nights (it’s not the cheapest place to travel to), feeling like I was living in a dream the whole time.
While I was there, I saw Syrian friends and colleagues who I’ve known for over 10 years, who I worked with in Türkiye. The hugs, the “Can you believe we are here?!”, the joy on our faces would not stop! I ate falafel and shawarma, I drank Syrian beer. I walked around and observed.
I remember thinking to myself that Damascus is both not as bad as I thought it could be, but also worse than I expected. The not bad parts: shops, cafes, restaurants, markets, were all still functioning. I bought olive oil from a man in the Old City, who was so excited to see me, telling me about where his olive oil comes from in Syria, how old his house is, and being excited to see more foreigners coming to witness the beauty and history of this monument to the world.
There were, of course, many things that were difficult. The city felt… tired. Although the residents did their best to keep it clean, the infrastructure, the buildings, were, well, old. The cell service network was spotty (at best), many places don’t have WiFi, electricity was only functioning for 2 hours a day, and finding a house with access to hot running water was rare. While I was there, one day, the entire cell phone network went out for over 9 hours – extremely difficult if that’s the main way that you communicate and get around.
I’ve now been to Damascus – and across many other parts of Syria – 3 more times since then.
And every time, I fall in love with the city more and more.
The trees. The jasmine. The flag. The old buildings. The history. I can go on and on. It’s possibly my favorite city in the region (and yes, I am completely biased).
Every time I go, it improves. A lot. Electricity is better now, and so is the cell service. The city is opening its (old) doors to the world.
Over the next few weeks, I’ll be publishing a series of articles focused on how to travel to Damascus now, where to stay, and what to consider. Because after 10 years of what I thought was just a pipe dream, I can now encourage anyone and everyone to travel to the “Pearl of the East”, which is now ready to take back its place in the world.
Angela was born and raised in the United States, but has spent the last 15 years of her life travelling around the globe as a humanitarian, responding to some of the world worst crises. She spent the last 11 years of her life travelling around the Middle East, supporting the humanitarian crisis in Syria. All of this work only spurred on her love of travel. Angela has now been to almost 50 countries, 8 of which are in the Middle East region. Yalla Habibti was born out of a deep love for the Middle East, and a desire to bring the beauty, history and culture of this region to encourage more women to visit! Angela still works full time as a humanitarian as well as providing advice and recommendations here on Yalla Habibti.
