Damascus

So onto the capital, a less chaotic version of Aleppo. First thing to say, best hotel of our tour so far. Proper breakfast, with omlettes and baked beans and decent tea and coffee, hot and cold running water, a bidet, enough room to engage in modest feline swinging, working air-con, etc. Some hotels have left much to be desired. The one in Aleppo claimed a number of added services including wireless internet service (which those who tried confirmed didn't work) worryingly followed by "fire alarm service." In the circumstances we decided not to test this.

Like Aleppo, the place has an old city with its souqs. More spacious and less intimidating than Aleppo, but also rather less atmospheric. (Except maybe the spice lane which really does have an amazing aroma).

The Great Mosque is indeed great, though the ladies once more had to be cloaked in what seemed like the dress for Star Wars extras in order to visit. The place is heaving with Iranian women dressed head to toe in black. Architecturally very interesting as it started out as the Roman Temple of Jupiter - and very grand Roman columns remain - then became Byzantine Cathedral before settling into Islamic mosque with now 3 minarets added at various times down the centuries. And its Christian era heritage has resulted in it containing (supposedly) the head of John the Baptist, in a huge casket which could probably contain a camel too with room to spare.  Even nicer though was the Islamic Palace, Khan As'ad Pasha, five domes over a central courtyard in contrasting black and white courses of marble, fountain in the middle, shafts of light entering from above.

The shi-ite mosque (which our guide told us we would need a taxi to reach but on consulting the map was about 200 metres from where we were standing) is just a riot of bling. It would make an American rapper's neck look bare by comparison. Gold, mirrors and chandeliers everywhere, various gawdy trappings being kissed or pawed at by devout followers or gawped at by whole squads of Iranian burka clad women. (By the way, don't think of these little old ladies as shy and retiring after years of male domination. I tried to hold back to let a family with young children get through, but was quickly out-flanked by a phalanx of barging black clad women swarming over their target.)

Most unimpressive though is the little church devoted to St Paul. Built only in 1925, it wasn't worth my trek around the city walls in the heat.

National Museum also lacked a lot, mostly because all the classical section is closed, awaiting restoration of the classical galleries. Having our guide didn't help. We have fallen between two schools of thought, ditch the bitch and try and work round her (me, Jim and Willie), or make the lazy cow do something for her money (Amanda and Kirstin). So we let her prattle on with her explanations which in several cases were just wrong when one actually read the translations in the museum. If she doesn't know something she just makes it up, in her comical English. I am sure we all have our favourites. I asked what went into a particular fruit juice. Its local, there is no Latin name for it she replied. Well maybe, but I was hoping for an English one! On being asked for the ingredients of the peculiar ice-cream out here (nice, but you see them stretching it - its just slightly chewy). She said milk, ham, butter. "What was the second one?" asked an incredulous Andrew. "Milk" she replied. No the second one. "Butter". (Thanks to Lonely Planet I can reveal the magic ingredient is tapioca.)

But maybe most memorable was her re-writing of the bible. Did you know St Paul went blond on the way to Damascus? Miracle, or the first recorded use of hydrogen peroxide?

Having finally escaped the tyrany of our guide's recommendations for dinner (our confidence in her abilities having dipped well below zero), I resorted to the Lonely Planet guide and came up trumps. Found a place with a view right over the illuminated mosque on a roof terrace. Food was excellent and the waiter not only gave us ingredients but pretty much the full recipe for each of the dishes. And a menu with prices. And the mint lemonade made up for the only downside, no alcohol. (Jim's lips curled at the very notion that he might resort to the alcohol-free beer. He and Wille were much cheered later at finding a shop selling scotch at less than 10 quid a bottle.)

Well, not much more of Damascus to see, although I will step out into the seering late afternnon heat, and the accompanying bustle. Really just a case of meandering around and soaking up the atmosphere (and the odd lesser mosque). Next stop Jordan, hopefully with no bother in acquiring a visa at the border. Not much room left in the old passport now. Nor space on my memory card with ruins in Jerash and Petra ahead.