Syria...1982 or 1882 ?

2.2 The Way to Damascus, Syria....... Next Morning (Part 3)

The arrival hall at the Syrian Border was filled with people, waiting in chaotic lines. All helplessly tried to reach the service desk located on the other side of the hall. Hundreds of people formed a mass of tangled bodies in front of the stone clad service desk. Holding his and our passports in his hand; the car driver, expertly moved between the masses to reach the other end of the service desk. As we followed I noticed that he stood under a sign that read "Passport Pickup". He spoke inaudibly with the thin black-haired border control official sitting behind that section of the desk. In just an instant the driver turned around, gave us our passports and asked us to wait in the car.
"What an amazing man!" I thought to myself as I entered the car.
Moments later, we were on our way. As we cleared the border area, the driver asked us to pay 200 Syrian pounds each; totalling the "gift" he had paid to the official to speed up our arrival process.
Damascus a busy valley city is a beautiful city in its own right. An oasis in the middle of the desert, with the ultra old, the old and the new mixing together to form a unique portrait of sights, sounds, smells and colors. Our hotel in the city center (Sahet Al Merjeh), blended perfectly with the ultra old. The hotel was a two star family run establishment. The room reminded me of the 1960’s movies we used to watch on TV. It's empty refrigerator was probably built during one of the world wars while the bathroom featured a manual flushing system.