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Cheap Fly To Syria
- Charging low prices
- bum: of very poor quality; flimsy
- (of an item for sale) Low in price; worth more than its cost
- (of prices or other charges) Low
- relatively low in price or charging low prices; "it would have been cheap at twice the price"; "inexpensive family restaurants"
- brassy: tastelessly showy; "a flash car"; "a flashy ring"; "garish colors"; "a gaudy costume"; "loud sport shirts"; "a meretricious yet stylish book"; "tawdry ornaments"
- A country in the Middle East, on the eastern Mediterranean Sea; pop. 18,016,000; capital, Damascus; language, Arabic (official)
- an Asian republic in the Middle East at the east end of the Mediterranean; site of some of the world's most ancient centers of civilization
- (syrian) of or relating to or characteristic of Syria or its people or culture; "the Syrian government"
- (syrian) a native or inhabitant of Syria
- A flying insect of a large order characterized by a single pair of transparent wings and sucking (and often also piercing) mouthparts. Flies are noted as vectors of disease
- An infestation of flying insects on a plant or animal
- two-winged insects characterized by active flight
- (British informal) not to be deceived or hoodwinked
- Used in names of flying insects of other orders, e.g., butterfly, dragonfly, firefly
- travel through the air; be airborne; "Man cannot fly"
cheap fly to syria - Demystifying Syria
Demystifying Syria (SOAS Middle East Issues Series)
"Offers the most up-to-date guide to Syria's enigmatic political, economic and social order" - The Montreal Review
Syria stands at the center of contemporary Middle Eastern affairs, yet it remains poorly understood by analysts and the general public. This collection presents an innovative study of key aspects of Syrian politics, economics, and society.
Each contribution is firmly grounded in primary research undertaken in Syria. The contributors identify current trends in Syria and go on to situate recent developments within broader contextual issues.
Fred H. Lawson is a lecturer at Mills College, California. He is the author of Constructing International Relations in the Arab World (Stanford University Press) and Why Syria Goes to War (Cornell University Press).
The Blue Mosque at Sunset
Istanbul was the first port of call on my trip. I didn’t want to go there but it was the most convenient (for convenient see cheapest) place for me to fly to for my planned itinerary. It’s not that I had no interest in the city; in fact I spent a great week exploring it with a friend from home later in my trip. The reason I didn’t want to be there is that it is where everybody else was. When I arrived in the Sultanahmet area, where my hostel was located, my heart sank. I was dropped off at 10pm on a bright, bustling street full of bars and restaurants. They were all crammed with backpackers and holiday-makers having a great time. Some were downing pints, some enjoying the local water pipes and others chatting while watching English football. Anything you could want was there. Drink, food, company, toothpaste or toilet roll. Late nights in a drunken slop or classy evenings up on the rooftop, everything was catered for and I hated it for that. I dropped my bag off in my dorm room and made my way up the stairs to the rooftop bar. On my way up I could feel the bass of the music, hear the conversations ringing out above me. Years before these sounds would have been the reason for me travelling. New friends, late nights and hazy memories were once the purpose behind my travels. Not this time though. This time I was coming over all Hoagy Carmichael and was itching to get away. I knew where I was going and I knew I wanted to go there alone. I sat there that first night, up on the roof with the moonlit view of the Sea of Marmara to the south side and the minarets of the Blue Mosque peering over the skyline to the north. Edging my way into a multi-national group of young drunks I sat and listened to a conversation about fumbles and foreplay. Something about it set my teeth on edge. I don’t think it was the age of the group, me being the oldest there by around 10 years. I don’t think it was the topic either, I’m not usually known as a prude. I think it was myself I was annoyed at. Angry that I was in this place, disappointed that I had booked 3 nights in this tourist trap. Booked because for all my ambition to get off the beaten track and head to Georgia, I wasn’t quite ready to make that first step into nowhere quite yet. So instead I sat there at that table with those people I didn’t want to meet, in a city I didn’t want to be in having the kind of holiday I didn’t want to have. I gamely tried to join in but it was always half hearted. My interjections lame, my observations ignored. I was the ol’ bastard at the end of the table. After a while I drifted off, my thoughts turning to Hazel who I had said goodbye to just that very morning. S already seemed so far away. I had 10 more weeks before I would see her again. 10 more weeks that in theory would see me travel through Georgia, Armenia, Syria and Lebanon. All of a sudden that thought seemed very real, that length of time seemed endless and if I’m honest, the whole idea seemed very, very ill thought out. That night I lay on a sweat soaked bunk bed cursing myself for dragging me away from a happy home life, the girl I loved and a life that was never less than happy. Why couldn’t I just leave well alone? What was so good about travelling? And if I really had to go backpacking, why on earth was I going for 3 months, alone? Ridiculous all round: or so it seemed at the time. One thing I learnt on my trip was that I need to temper my tendency to flip to extremes, ecstatic and disconsolate are not the only emotional options available to me. I was a good few weeks away from that particular revelation though and as you may have guessed, I spent a long night that was sound-tracked by disconsolate mutterings and angry fits of self-flagellation. The next day I wandered around Istanbul and got hopelessly lost. I went somewhere. That is all I can tell you. I was somewhere in Istanbul where nothing happened, there was nothing to see and nobody wanted to talk to me. My mood continued to plummet, my imagination had a heady time spinning out nightmares of a 3 month holiday from hell. And then, after a long days walking and a panicked taxi ride, I turned a corner, felt the waning heat of the sun on my face and looked up. This picture is pretty much what I saw. I still wasn’t happy about being in Istanbul and my heart was still set on getting to somewhere else. I also still hated all the tourist garnishings that I felt ashamed to be part of, but I did begin to understand why I was travelling. To see something as ancient and beautiful as the Blue Mosque is something that can be taken for granted, if you let yourself, but I guess I was just open to it at the time. It heartened and inspired me to give myself a small but much needed kick up the arse. This was not where I wanted to be and the hostel was not my kind of holiday but there were much, much worse places to be. That night I sat with the same group of drunks and while I still felt out of place and at a loss for words
Syria - Dara
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cheap fly to syria
John Lewis Burckhardt (1784-1817) was a Swiss explorer who is best remembered for his rediscovery of the ancient city of Petra in modern Jordan. In 1809 he was commissioned by the African Association to discover the source of the River Niger. In preparation for this journey, for which he needed to pass as a Muslim, Burckhardt spent two years exploring and studying Arabic and Islamic law in Aleppo, before travelling widely in Arabia and Egypt. This book provides 'a view of Arabian life and manners in every degree, from the Bedouin camp to the populous city', but the most striking passages describe the ruins of Petra, and especially its sumptuously carved Nabataean tombs. Burckhardt also records his frustration at not being able to explore freely and make notes, but these activities would have laid him open to suspicion of being a spy or an infidel, and almost certain death.