el-Zor meant ‘monastery in the forest’, Baltasar had told us. I’d have to take his word for it. All I’d seen was rugged mountains and desert, and farmers tilling the fields on the banks of the river. Not much went on here unless it had to do with the newly invigorated tourist trade. All the action was eighty miles downstream, in neighbouring Iraq.
There were untold numbers of ancient cities around here, our guide had continued. They’d survived Romans, Jews, Ottomans and even the French, who ran the country until 1946. Just about the only natives we’d come across were street vendors trying to flog us camel-hair blankets or sacks of cardamom or coriander. What the fuck was I going to do with any of those?
It was here that we’d be staying for the next three nights of our ten-night run-around of Syria’s religious and cultural sights and antiquities. Our tour group was a mix of born-again singles looking for the Promised Land, history-buff singles who wanted to follow the routes of Crusaders and sad-fuck singles like me and Di.
The hotel was the other side of the river. I wandered past the teahouses that lined the road down to the bridge. The pavement tables overflowed with old guys, their hookah-pipes bubbling away as they spun the shit. You name it, the topic was taboo in Syria, but the night was the coolest time to get out and get waffling to your mates, so here they were. And the open air was just about the only place they could be confident the secret police’s ears weren’t flapping.
I smiled to myself. If everything went to plan in the next two hours, these lads were going to have a lot more to talk about. And they weren’t the only ones.
2
As I crossed the suspension bridge I couldn’t help another little smile. We’d been here earlier today with our ever-enthusiastic guide. Baltasar was a squat, energetic little man with an enormous moustache. He kept twirling the tips as if they were waxed, but they weren’t. Seconds after each twirl, the whole arrangement would collapse again in the heat.
He was so devoted to his mother-country that he claimed just about everything you could think of originated from here. Even Jesus spoke Syriac - which was probably the only fact he’d given us that was actually true. As we’d gazed out across the mighty waters he’d told us the Euphrates featured strongly in the prophecies of the Book of Revelation. ‘Where it is written that the river will be one of the scenes of Armageddon …’ He’d raised his hands to the skies like a prophet. ‘The sixth angel poured out his bowl on the great river Euphrates, and its water was dried up to prepare the way for the kings from the east.’
Tonight it wasn’t going to be kings coming from the east. It was going to be loud bolts of thunder roaring in from the west, in the form of seven F-15 fighter jets armed with AGM-65 Maverick missiles and 500-pound bombs.
The hotel lay a block beyond the far bank. The rectangular concrete monolith had had a few licks of green paint and a bit of a dig-out to cater for the tourists, but that was about it. The air-conditioning, like Baltasar’s take on history, was beyond repair.
The security guard at the front door had a blue sweater on over his blue overalls. There wasn’t as much as one drop of sweat on his ancient face. I went into the lobby. The small bar area and a couple of soon-to-be-threadbare sofas were taken up by faces from our Road to Damascus tour. I hadn’t bothered to find out all their names. Baltasar was at the centre of the group.
‘Ah! Mr Shepherd! Are you not coming to join us?’ He gave his whiskers a tweak. ‘I was explaining about the archaeological remains at Dura-Europos and—’
I kept on walking. I pulled out my BlackBerry and waved it. ‘I’ll maybe come down later, mate. I’ve got to make a call.’
There weren’t any lifts. The stairway was encased in mustard-coloured walls and a musty, smelly brown carpet that kept me company up all six flights. I’d asked for a room at the top. I wanted the view over the city; I didn’t mind what it cost.
I let myself in with a large key. The room was basic, but at least it was clean. There were two sheets and a pillow, a thin green blanket and no TV. A two-litre