August 2011 - The Green Bus, Plans Always Change Part II

Sometime August 2011 in Damascus Syria

The soldier approached me as I was kneeling down to pump up my bike tire which I had just changed.  He had driven his bus in reverse back to my location when he saw I was no longer behind him.  When he had first approached me from behind, he passed me and I sped up to draft behind him.  A few minutes later, he slowed down to force me to pass him, where he remained for the next 45 minutes.  Since it was a large, dark-green military bus, he was probably heading to the airport but because I was a female wearing spandex shorts, I thought he probably wanted to go slow to gawk at me. 

            Syrian women normally cover their heads and bodies because it is not proper for a woman to disrespect her husband or father by causing another man to think about her romantically.  Even if I do not agree entirely with this belief, I must put myself in the man’s shoes and realize what he might be thinking about when he sees me.  Part of my wanting to live abroad is also wanting to learn new perspectives, realities, beliefs and how to function in these societies through eyes of the native.  

            As we approached the airport, we waved goodbye.  I made a U-turn around the median to head back and I was out on the road alone again.  There were hardly any cars on this 15 mile stretch of flat airport road since it was Ramadan.  During this holy month, Muslims abstain from water, food, cigarettes, and gum during daylight hours.  Because it is so hot during the day and no one is drinking, many people stay inside to stay cool if they have the opportunity; which results in the night coming alive.  The taxi drivers who I spoke to were all proud to be fasting and felt it was the right thing to do. 

            As I watched rocky and mostly flat beige colored landscape pass by, I wondered how the few dust covered shrubs with were able to survive in the Middle Eastern sun without water.  I had to drink twice as much when I rode my bike in Syria as I did when I was riding back in the states.  Cycling in Syria will force you to be self-sufficient because you can’t depend on anyone else to have water because you can become dangerously dehydrated fast.  This means that even if I think I will only need two bottles of water, I’ll take three. 

            I was thinking about the salt on my face when I heard a car approaching from behind me, I stayed to the side so it could pass, but it slowed down to match my pace.  The green bus was back; now I was uncomfortable.  I was a female foreigner alone on a road which was isolated by fields of dirt during a crisis in which foreign reporters were not allowed in the country.  It was bittersweet that the bus was back, the soldiers could do anything they wanted and no one would stop them, or they could protect me from any one else.  At this point, I no longer had a residence card and was waiting to be approved for a new one, so I did not have any legal reason to be in the country.  I also did not have a permanent address, a real job, or any non-suspicious reason for riding my bike alone on the airport road.

            I pulled to the left side of the road and waved the green bus forward so I could talk to the driver. In my Arabic, I asked him to go just a little bit faster and then maintain that speed.  I'm not sure if he understood what I wanted to do, but he sped up to a pace in which I could draft.  While I was behind the bus, it would speed up and I had to work hard to keep up, then it would slow down and give me a break.  I'm not sure if the driver was trying to play with me, but I interpreted it that way.  I thought I was getting tired because all of a sudden I was having a hard time keeping up my speed.  I looked down and my tire was flat.  I pulled over to the side of the road to change the tire.  Even though the bus kept going, I knew that the secret police had sent that bus out there to watch me.  

Madrid, Spain

August 16, 2011 - I arrived in Madrid at 7am in the morning after travelling all night.  I was sleepy, but I put my things in the hostel and was able to go on a walking tour at 11:30 that Sunday.  We were warned that Madrid was notorious for pickpockets, so wear your backpacks on the front.  

For lunch Sunday, I ate Gaspacho Soup.  It was warm in Madrid, but it was so much cooler than Syria.  When I called home, I exclaimed how nice it was to be out of Syria and how pleasant the temperature was in Madrid. I did not know the temperatures for the first several days I was there but my dad looked it up and said it was 97 Fahrenheight.  That really says something about how hot Syria is.  

Monday afternoon, I did work trying to get the shipment of my household goods sent out from Syria to go back to the U.S.  

Tuesday morning I woke up horribly sick.  My body had ingested something that it didn't like and I was having evacuations from the top and the bottom.  This was old news for me because I had been getting sick chronically for the past 2 months since that one day I ate that street food.  I'm just SO emotionally worn out from suffering from food poisoning again and again. 

I went to the hostel front desk and I asked where I could find a doctor or go to the hospital.  She said, "If you go to the doctor, you're going to have to pay for that.  If you go to the pharmacy, they'll just give you the medicines you need."  I don't have health insurance in any country, but I also how how expensive one doctor visit can be in the western world.  (In Syria, it's about $10. No need for insurance there.)

I went to the 'Farmacia' and told them I had food poisoning, she suggested Immodium and this other thing.  I went back to the hostel, curled up in bed and took my own medicine I had brought from Syria.  Some stuff called, 'de-vomit' and something else which calls itself an 'intestinal antiseptic.' 

Tuesday afternoon I was slightly better and went to the Hyland Language Institute to pay for my tuition, evacuations from bottom continued.  

Wednesday I spent the day inside and cancelled an apartment viewing because I wasn't well enough to be far from the toilet.  Thursday I had improved enough to view 2 apartments, but was still losing fluids and not able to drink fluids or eat much; I had to return to the hostel to sleep and rest. Friday I had to change hostels.  After resting in my bed in the new hostel, I had to go get my bags from the old hostel. 

On the metro subway from the old hostel to the new hostel, I broke out in a sweat.  It was so fierce that my shirt became moist, my hair was wet and I had sweat rolling down my face.  I felt so bad, light headed and I wasn't sure what was going to happen next.  I rested my head on my hands which was holding on to a pole because the metro was so crowded.  The people on the train knew something was going on because I'm sure I was pale.  When the train stopped, they helped me push my bag off.  I dragged it away and sat down on the platform with my bags for a few minutes until everyone had cleared.  There was a metro official who came to me and asked if I needed medical assistance, I told him I didn't think so.  He helped me carry my bags out and up all the stairs.  He told me I needed to make sure I was drinking water.

Back at the hostel, I kept on all of my clothes and just curled up in bed under the down feather duvet.  I could not get warm all night and I was having severe muscle stiffness all over my body including bad headaches so I took 4 ibuprofen.  I eventually showered to get warm and was in bed for the night although I couldn't stay asleep.  

I wrote my mom an email and told her of what I was feeling, " 

The next day, Saturday, I couldn't sit up or stand with out pain from my gut.  I had given up on this language institute, getting my CELTA, and I just wanted to go home.  I wanted to go back to the states to get proper medical treatment because I felt like I had only one more day of strength in me.  I don't know what would have happened after a day, but I wanted to call, "Mercy" and be rescued.

Saturday, after I could get myself together, I set out with a guy from the hostel escorting me to find a travel agent who could book a flight for me for the next day.  All the travel agents were closed that afternoon, they would be closed that Sunday as well.  My next plan of action was to go to a clinic and just complain that I couldn't drink any fluids because I was nauseous, I was losing fluids because of 'evacuations' and I was sweating profusely.  I just wanted to get an IV.  

I checked into the clinic and explained what was wrong, they drew some blood for tests, and put me on an IV.  An hour later, they were waking me up from this chair and telling me that they needed to admit me to the hospital because my blood wasn't normal.  There was some sort of infection but they couldn't tell what kind.

I had to go wait in the waiting room while they found a bed for me.  In that time, my mother called me on my mobile and she advised me to tell them that I would be paying for this on my own.  Mom said they might be sensitive to the financial situation and quell some of the tests they were going to do.  After bringing this to the attention of the doctor, she said not to worry about the financial part of it.  They would probably give me a bill, but they wouldn't chase me to the states to make me pay it.

I was admitted to the hospital Saturday afternoon.  I spent the remainder of Saturday in there, as well as Sunday and Monday.  The entire time I was on an IV drip because I wasn't able to eat food or keep fluids in me.  Tuesday, I began to be able to eat and keep my meals inside.  Tuesday night on the phone with my mom, she booked a flight via internet for me to fly back to the states on Thursday. 

I decided that no matter what, I was going to get discharged on Wednesday.  If they didn't let me go by discharging me, I would just leave and walk out.  Luckily, when Wednesday morning came around, I was dressed, packed and ready to go when the doctor came around.  She told me they had found strains of selmonilla in my samples and if anything started again, she gave me a prescription for an anti-biotic. 

I was discharged, I left the hospital, took a cab to the post office, mailed back everything except my necessities for an overnight stay in hostel, and I went to the hostal. 

Thursday morning I got up, almost missed my flight because I went to the wrong branch of the Madrid airport, got on the flight and smoothly came back to the states for rest and relaxation

Things always go from crawl pace to race pace in no time. I've had a month with no plans while I was living with my parents.

I have just arrived in Florida to visit my brothers and to see them before I launch off again.