It takes forever to get out of the terminal and onto a side street, and once we do, it becomes clear that the driver has made a wrong turn, and we crawl back from whence we came as one outraged passenger loudly berates the driver in the otherwise silent bus.
While that one passenger openly expresses his anger, I am quietly delighted. From my perspective, a bus caught in traffic is an opportunity to witness day to day life in regular motion, and a gift to a traveler. While I may be in motion, I am in no hurry, and a delay in a fascinating locale is little more than an opportunity for increased education.
As we finally get going, the backdrop changes quickly. I regret that I didn't have a chance to take a picture or video, but in yet another one of those, "you're out there now, kid" moments the highway signs begin showing distances to Iraq and Baghdad.
The last sign I see reads Iraq 52km and Baghdad 124km, and I'm more than a little taken aback by my proximity. I honestly did not expect to get this close to a place of such instability and violence, and I am briefly nervous.
At the interchange we turn west on this beautifully ancient and desolate road, and as the bus hurtles away from Iraq and towards Palmyra, I breathe a little more easily as the timeless beauty of the landscape envelopes me, and suddenly an epicentre of human hatred is a world away as my bus drops me off at the precipice of one of the most magnificent places I have ever seen.
Palmyra awaits.
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