Alexander’s Footsteps: Don’t Mind the Minder in Syria

After working as a reporter in Cairo, Theodore May wanted to know more about the history, culture, and people of the Middle East. So he decided to explore it, and use one of history’s conquerors as his guide. For the next eight months he’ll be following in the footsteps of Alexander the Great, tracing the 2,000-mile path Alexander forged through the modern Middle East. Theo will be writing about his experiences for The Global Post, and you can be follow him on Twitter at @Theodore_May. He’ll be contributing glimpses from his journeys here at Intelligent Travel.

“In the old days, the Ministry of Information used to be like the secret police,” Fady, my state-issued minder in Damascus, told me.

“Today it’s just here to help journalists,” he added brightly.

I arrived in Syria, on foot from Turkey, on a journalist visa and had been advised to visit the Ministry of Information to check in. There, I was told that to do any work whatsoever in the country, I’d need a minder. That’s where Fady came in.

While, like most journalists, I managed to do much of my work on the side, I thought I’d rope Fady in for a tour of Damascus’ old city. That would keep the ministry happy and teach me a thing or two about Syrian press controls.

When we met at the designated hour, it was approaching 80 degrees. While I was hot in blue jeans and rolled up shirtsleeves, Fady met me dressed in a heavy double-breasted suit and carrying a briefcase. It was obvious that this was serious business.

The old city of Damascus is a dazzling destination, even for the most seen-it-all Middle East traveler. Gold markets tumble into spice bazaars. Painters mingle with bootleg DVD sellers. Cart men hawk fresh blackberry slushies. Watch sellers use the walls of the imposing Ummayad mosque as a backrest while they push their wares.

Fady and I headed to Souk al Hamidiyeh, the old city’s covered market. Hamidiyeh dead-ends into the Ummayad Mosque, where we turned south to explore the spice market.

I strolled up to one vendor who was selling everything from dried mint to almonds and casually asked him how the economy was treating him.

Fady, standing right behind me, jumped in.

“This is Theodore May, a journalist,” he said, gesturing at me. “My name is Fady, from the Ministry of Information.”

The conversation, for all intents and purposes, was finished before it started. The salesman mumbled a couple of words about how sales had held up and then went back to arranging his goods.

I tried talking to another vendor, but the outcome was the same. It didn’t take me long to realize that I wouldn’t get any good answers from these men with Fady around and that it wasn’t fair to the vendors to put them on the spot in this way.

Understanding this, I suggested to Fady that we just stroll to the other side of the old city and call it a day. He agreed.

Fady, I should note, was great fun to hang around with, even if he did scare off most of the people I tried to talk to. He also knew his history, so he taught me volumes about the old city’s background.

As we walked, the spice market gave way to a slew of cafes, with Syrians young and old lining the sidewalks smoking nargileh (which is Syrian for “water pipe”).

Beyond the cafes, sleepy narrow residential streets snaked off in every direction. Eventually we reached Bab Tuma (Thomas’ Gate), where the quiet alleys of old Damascus collide with the buzzing streets of the modern town.

I wished Fady farewell and hopped into a taxi, happy I’d gotten a taste of reporting with a minder. Even though it didn’t generate any reporting, I chalked it all up to the Syrian experience.

Follow along with Theo’s journey at Global Post, and on Twitter @Theodore_May.

Photos: Above, shopkeepers avoid Theo’s gaze; Below, the raspberries used in slushies. Fady, naturally, did not agree to be photographed. Photos by Theodore May.