I realise that my seatbelt is not on, and I hasten to strap myself in, but the female end is broken, so I hold it in place, giving the illusion of compliance. The driver looks over at me and says "Don't worry about police, I am police".
In a place like Syria, I have no reason to doubt him.
He asks me where I'm going and I explain that my plan is to pass through the Syrian frontier back into Turkey via Antakya. I have some vague plan to get a bus, but I also know that buses along this route are not common. He offers me a lift for $60, 120 km across the border to Antakya.
I consider briefly, then accept, thinking that hiring a private driver who is a cop speaks to my need for convenience and safety. Not to mention a wakeup call delayed by four hours. I accept and we arrange
The concierge at The Baron asks if I need a ride to Antakya, and I explain that I have already booked a ride and I have the first twinge that I have chosen too quickly..
My driver shows up promptly the following morning, and I am initially buoyed. We drive through the streets of Aleppo, and I briefly think that we are on our way, but it is not to be, and I begin to feel like I am in the opening of a great movie that I wish I wasn't in.
We switch cars. We switch drivers. I sit in the car with my luggage in the trunk for about half an hour. As I sit in the new car, the trunk is opened and closed several times. The thing is that when you sit in a car while the trunk is being opened it is impossible to see what is going on in said trunk, but it is possible to feel it.
I begin to imagine that my bag is being stuffed with Iranian heroin, bound for the Turkish market or any other number of nefarious schemes that end with me being sentenced to life in a far flung gulag while my family exhausts all their holdings in a vein attempt to free me or I get shot in the head in some obscure field.
My travel paranoia meter is going off like never before, and it only gets more redline as I am joined by a new driver and a fellow passenger, neither of whom speak English.
And what better place for a paranoid traveler in a police state to make a last stop prior to departure than a police station? Even better, we pick up two more people at the police station. We all report to the local authorities that we are leaving the jurisdiction. In defence of the Syrian police and border officials that I dealt with, they were all kind, polite, professional, and vigilant.
As me and four non english speaking dudes head out into the remote Syrian countryside the driver offers a cigarette and we all accept. I wait about half an hour and do the same. No one accepts.
I've traveled to a lot of places, but I have never seen my original intentions go so far awry, and I don't mind telling you that I am deeply worried due to my complete lack of control. This is a moment where I have nothing to rely on but my faith in others.
We pull over somewhere in a remote area and the trunk opens again. While I cannot see,I can feel things being unloaded. Heavy things. By now I am pretty convinced that it is a key part for the secret nuclear program between North Korea, Syria ,and Iran. (google it!)
However, I feel a little better that we have unloaded some cargo as we head out. At least about for about 83 seconds, at which point the driver realises that he has forgotten to drop off something (possibly the enriched uranium).
We drive on towards the border and the countryside is stark and beautiful and I revel in the fact of how "real" everything is, while reminding myself that it is moments like these that are the reason that I travel. I may be scared, but I am very much alive.
As we pull up to the border I quietly take a very, very, deep breath
http://www.goyestoeverything.com
