Quemener’s Journey To A Historic City

 

Christian Quemener is a highly esteemed personality and leader in the world of hospitality. He has explored the world in his hospitality adventure. His most recent adventures were in Africa. From the bight of Benin to the gulf of Tunis, where he was the general manager of the Royal Tulip Korbous Bay Thalasso & Springs, Quemener was now in Damascus. 

There, he is the general manager of the best hospitality destination in the historic city, the Golden Mazzeh Hotel. Godfrey Times Travel first met him during his adventure at the bight of Benin. We have been following him since then. 

Quemener is a hospitality adventure with many attractions. Godfrey Times Travel is privileged to explore those attractions, thanks to his kindness. The newest attractions he has blessed us with are his journey and stay in Damascus. On the privilege of his kindness, we asked him to share his adventure of going to and staying in Damascus with us. 

Explore the adventure in his own words below.  

I don’t compare myself to St. Paul, but I traveled the road to Damascus for a different reason. A reason fueled by my passion: hospitality.

My employer, who is also Paul, called me on WhatsApp as I was finishing a task on the Korbous mountain on the Golf of Tunis in Africa.

“Do you want to visit Syria?”

“Yes…I think?”

As a hospitality trove, I’m always up for an adventure in a new country with new people and a new culture.

I take pride in myself because I never turned down a trip or a mission in the past, even when they were in dangerous or challenging destinations. That doesn’t fit with my love for hospitality.

One of my ex-bosses once told me, and I’ll quote, that Christian is like a 4-wheel drive because he can go everywhere. Another ex-boss once told an employer that Christian is our issue manager because he doesn’t create problems; rather, he finds solutions to them.

Perhaps I am getting older, but I gave this one some serious thinking.

My notes contained images of Wagner, Daesh, the Turkish army, US and French special forces, as well as other ominous scenes.

I also recall the tens of thousands of visitors the nation received prior to 2012 who came for its history, scenic, and ancient sights. They raved about the delicious food and hospitable locals.

When I check the official websites of the United States and France, they strongly advise against traveling. I look it up and I find there is no representation of any significant European or American nations.

However, as I searched online for more information, I came across many traveler testimonials. Particularly one from an American woman who emphasized how simple and enjoyable her vacation in Damascus had been.

That’s all there is to it, so I’ll try it.

I also sought advice from former friends, relatives who had traveled extensively as professionals.

They concurred it was a highly intriguing destination. “Great!”, I say to myself.

Well, my mother was another story, but I reassured her I shall be fine, and the poor dear is used to it for now.

“The Trip,”

We have old sailor blood in us, so a goodbye to loved ones after a brief vacation to Brittany is nothing new. For my trip to Beirut, I flew from Rennes to Paris Charles de Gaulle and then to the Middle East Airline.

Both the plane itself and the service on board were top-notch.

In Beirut, I slept at the five-star Royal Tulip Al Shamya and treated myself to a bottle or two of the outstanding Kefraya red wine and a top-notch mixed grill.

The following morning, after an early alarm and a speedy breakfast, my driver was waiting to take me to Damascus.

Since one of Lebanon’s domino-style crises, power has been scarce, forcing many people to conserve energy. Typically, people will turn on the lights in just one room where the entire family will congregate. The driver left Beirut in the semi-darkness.

Magic is far away. Even during the conflict, Beirut remained the city of a million and one party nights, where people spoke and mixed in Arabic, English, and French. The people of Lebanon are resilient. I believe they will rise to the top once more.

The route climbed steeply into the snowy mountains, eventually reaching the Bekah valley, a site of fierce fighting and terrible slaughter in the 1980s.

People have long known it as Lebanon’s primary wine region.

Here, Christians, Muslims, and Druze all coexist together in this area.

As we descended the mountain, a little chilly rain fell, and we passed through a few minor cities in Lebanon.

I must admit that as the checkpoints drew nearer, I felt a little uneasy, especially as the driver—whom I had never seen before—did not speak English.

To be quite honest, my Arabic was pretty limited.

We then turned off the main road and went down a minor road.

My mind went back to the period when we were taught to rescue hostages while serving in the military. The accounts of missions that went wrong and resulted in the deaths of hostages, hostage-takers, and rescuers.

The top page of tabloids featured a countdown to the days remaining as hostages. My God!

My train of thought was interrupted by a man who pulled over in front of a small house in a desolate area.

No one came towards me holding Kalashnikovs or dressed in black and white rags, like in Fauda.

I saw an old woman, to whom the man gave a bag of food for a heartwarming hug.

The drive from the mountain to the valley was out of the descriptions of pleasant. We got back on the big, empty road.

Unlike when I took the road from Cotonou to Lagos, there were fewer exit checkpoints in Lebanon than in Nigeria.

There were no questions of bribery, but only unshaved, soldiers wrapped in heavy camouflage coats, cigarette hanging out of their lips and after a glance at your passport would let you go with a quick? K’efak., (meaning, HI, like how are you, in Lebanon and Syria, in Tunis or Alger would be ‘labes?’).

There was a serious security check at the Syrian border. I had to exit the car, brave the cold, rush to the border station.

Many commuters were patiently waiting to cross having paid their fees.

After paying $60 and having my passport stamped, I was free to go on with my journey.

Law and order is a given at the border. Nobody cuts in line like in other countries.

This took around 10 minutes and was rather painless. We were back on our way to Damascus in no time. The air was different and ancient.

The city sits on a valley surrounded by barren desert mountains; in the flatter sections, you can find olive groves and vegetable gardens.

The stern and imposing appearance of the government buildings in the ex-Soviet countries came to my mind when I saw this sprawling city.

Its modern outer reaches, wide avenues, and roundabouts.

The morning and evening rush hours are, as in every capital or bustling city, the worst.

However, the vast avenue and the much presence of traffic cops make it bearable.

The staff at the hotel made me feel very welcome; they all grinned and greeted me as if I were Jesus Christ himself. I am only a man and in no way resemble the Son of God. Lol! However, I’m just kidding—I understand the tremendous display of love and devotion, as fewer French citizens are now traveling to Damascus.

Staying In Damascus.

A lot of things I have been told about Damascus, by friends of different horizons. Never anything bad, but to the contrary, everyone talked about a magnificent city full of history.

Some say it is as Jesus left it ….

Not sure, first, I was not there and second, the old city, yes, is a reminiscence of the holy period and wars.

Romans, Philistines, Jews, Christians, Muslim and crusaders shared history here. That can be said for the entire region, Jordan, Palestine, Sinai and Israel.

There’s a plus. They are the one, speaking the Aramean, the original language of Jesus ….

Actually, the little village of Malouna, perched in the mountains surrounding Damascus, is apparently the last village speaking the language.

I had a delightful afternoon there, enjoying mixed grill, local wine and admiring the site.

I met with the Patriarch of the Syria, the Syrian Orthodox church, who has indeed confirmed the fact and speaks the language.

The suburb of Damascus has large avenues, a lot of trees and parks. I would say a very green city, despite some parks are a little on the run downside.

It is still a pleasure for my morning exercise to walk and exercise there. I also get to mingle with other sportive Damascene, (even if only a month in the city, I feel like one of them).

Overall, the new city reminds me of the ex-soviet republic style of architecture, solid and imposing. Not surprising, as Syria has always had tight relations with the ex- USSR and now Russia.

As I got closer and around the medina (The old city), the buildings are a heritage of the French mandate in Syria.

After the dissolution of the Ottoman Empire following the first world war, we French call it mandate. However, the Syrians call it occupation, difference of point of view….

Nice, 4 stories building with balcony, resembling the house of Alger, Tunis or Marseille, cultural vestiges of an ex great empire. 

I entered the old town by Bad Tuma, (Bab means door or gate in Arabic) the gate of St Thomas, the saint who did not believe Jesus came back ….

So again, despite the dominant Muslim religion, like Jerusalem, peacefully, the city shares its ancient history. And furthermore of its respect by all people.

In fact, here bars and liquor shops are open. Pretty Syrian ladies walk by not wearing any veils, Christian and Muslim alike, in all harmony.

Talking of bars, this is just after the gate, from the beginning of the long street, both sides, with restaurants, clubs, bar and little kiosk selling wine, and beer.

However, watch it, with beer, local and wine, from Lebanon, you are fine. I tried once, a double Jameson, a decent Irish whiskey to my taste, but the following day, I had a terrible headache.

The food here in Damascus is top range, Arabic food, of course. Hummus, kebabs, shish and other regional delicacies, including a large variety of bread, which are delicious.

I shall only warn you about the pastries, sweets and desserts … try one, you will finish the box. It is as addictive as cocaine …. but cheaper and I guess legal…

When you follow the small paved street full of people of all ages, you will enter bars and restaurants. You will enjoy the atmosphere of the warm evening, the old stones, the venerable mosques, the ancients’ churches and hotels.

They reveal the inside treasure of Arabic decoration, design and architecture. You will eventually arrive at the souk or bazaar.

You are then entering another world….

You will know you are arriving at the souk hundred meters before its entrances because you can smell the strong flavor of spices. A mix of curry, cardamon, cumin all culminating as you are entering the spices souk itself and from there the rest of the bazaar.

The crowd surrounding you is not the same as you will see in Tunis or Marrakesh, or tourist or passersby. Here people are busy with buying, negotiating, arguing and eventually selling the good with a sight of desperation. As if they make the sacrifice of their life and then pass to the next client.

The souk is not like Cairo or Tunis and is not a zigzag of small tortuous streets. But the main alley is rather a large road, covered by a glass roof on both sides. And in the middle, you will find small shops selling clothes, gold, perfumes, shoes, leather articles act.

As the people stop to look at items of the shops, the following crowd has either to wait (rarely), to push (often) or to get between walls, people and shop display.

In every few meters there is a commotion, and I have to stand still. My reflex is to check my phone and wallet, (never in the back pocket and not too much money, we never know…)

I wanted to buy a polo shirt, so I approached the merchant, a young boy of 15. Unfortunately, with my basic Arabic combined with my accent and his non existing English, we did not go very far in our trading.

I then realized the passersby, instead of minding their own business, were accumulating around us, and now the traffic of the souk, see the photo above, was completely blocked and a circle of people around us.

People there were making jokes, saying things in English they did not understand. I hope so anyway…. some may try to help, some just finding a distraction, like a street theater show. 

For me, it was not the first time I was the laughingstock of a stranger’s crowd, so you get used to it. However, I also know, sometimes, like it happened to me once in Togo, the situation can change the crowd from friendly to aggressive. And the fun evaporates to be replaced by a dangerous or at least uncomfortable situation.

I quit the purchase of the polo shirt to move a little further, still followed by a few boys who wanted to practice English. But not today with me guys and eventually they gave up.

From time to time the crowd, in the alley, will give way to a cart or a man carrying bread on a tray and very appetizing cakes, eclairs, brioches, etc. 

Don’t forget as pastries and bread goes the middle east and north Africa are second to none, of course not only for these. Fresh fruits and vegetables are great and cheap, at least for foreigners who paid in dollars. Lamb meat, and shawarma are delicious …. all that to say, despite my 45 minutes daily exercises, I put a couple of kgs on, and not in the right place, but what can I do? (Gallic shrug).

The souk is noisy, busy but beautiful. I go there two, three times a month for the fun of it, to look for antics, coffee, or spices. 

I never do without entering the perfume shops, with all their copies of the world’s most famous perfumes. I never leave each shop without a new fragrance on me, (no small profit).

However, to be honest, if they are close enough to the genuine stuff, they are not quite it and don’t last that long, still for what they cost, you as well could bath in it. 

Now, I know my way around, and I am not afraid, but even if you get lost, people here are nice and will try to help you out.

It’s much more fun than going to your local supermarket, Tesco, Carrefour or what have you. Trust me.