Getting into Syria!!

After our work with ‘Kamer’, a women’s rights charity in Diyarbakir, South Turkey was complete, we turned our attentions to making it through Syria. It was already a massive disappointment to us all, that our time there would have to be reduced to a meagre transit, however the most important thing in all of our minds was continuing the project, and to do so, we simply had to get to Jordan.

We had been studying the news online for weeks, and had also been keeping up to date with a whole host of blogs and forums. We had determined the destination and timings of much of the unrest, and could see a very clear window, through which we could safely pass. Although the news back in the UK seemed to be of a Syria on the verge of a full-scale civil war, our interpretation of the situation wasn’t quite so extreme.

There were protests in certain hotspots, yes, and the violent clampdown by the Syrian government was shocking, we, however had no intention of being anywhere near any protest, and were more than satisfied by accounts from inside Syria, that we would receive minimal hassle from any security forces. We all had certain reluctances, but the concluding fact still remained that each of us were happy to pass through Syria, and although we took the step of banning any filming, our concerns were minimal.

The first task was getting in. Cindy and myself had received our visas back in the UK, however, Phil had been away, and thus not had the time to apply in London. We had read varying accounts about the possibility of receiving visas at the border, and in the end the only fact was, simply it depended on the individual, and his mood on the day. After a long deliberation, we decided Phil should head to Kilis (one border) alone to apply for a visa, and we would remain in Sanliurfa to await news. One major factor in this decision was that with petrol being nearly two pounds per litre, and the bus being about two pounds in all, it would be a massive saving.

The news came the same day, and it wasn’t positive. Phil had been turned down for a visa at the Kilis border. He had exited Turkey, but not been allowed into Syria, and thus had a void exit stamp on his passport, and had to return to Sanliurfa with his tail between his legs. The team remained perky, and quickly came to the decision to attempt the smaller border just 50 km from Sanliurfa, in Ackakale, and although it had been reported difficult to obtain a visa here, we felt it was worth having a go, as we were already so close.

The following day we headed down to Ackakale, and after staying for a night in the shadow of the border, for the first time we attempted to cross as a three. Again, leaving Turkey, of course, posed no problem, and at first it seemed positive on the Syrian side. Phil was taken off to be questioned regarding his visa, whilst Cindy and me were waved through the proceedings. Finally we all entered into an office with about four to five policeman, and were promptly told, ‘you two fine, Phillip impossible. No visa here!’

After a short discussion, again we decided to head back altogether and attempt one last time at the main border, near Antakya. We felt we had a few days to play with, as it would be safest to leave on a Sunday, and decided that if Phil failed to get his visa this time, Cindy and myself would continue with the car, and Phil would meet us in Amman, via a flight from Istanbul. We had also been experiencing some issues with the car and thus felt that before attempting to transit Syria, we should visit a mechanics for a little TLC.

A few days later, we again headed to the border. This time, we had heard positive stories of receiving visas on arrival, and were quietly confidant of getting through as a three. Again, we exited Turkey, and approached the Syrian border. On approaching the customs office, we were met by an English speaking employee who promptly, and in a concerned manner suggested that he felt that there would be no way through without a visa. We headed to the border police desk, handed over our passports and were immediately met with ‘no visa, no enter’.

We mumbled a few sentences his way, and soon he was studying all three of our passports as we sat patiently and waited. After approximately 20 minutes a police officer walked towards us, holding our passports. He directed us outside, and said ‘All three back to Turkey please’. We were shocked. The entire project hung in the balance. Phil and myself immediately jumped into desperation mode. ‘No impossible! The car has to go through!’ After snatching back our passports and marching back inside, we entered into a verbal volley with the head honcho behind the desk. ‘Phil can return yes, and fly to Amman. Other two must go through with car. The car can’t fly. The car has to be in Jordan.’ We then refused to leave, and rather stood there ranting on at a man who could understand virtually none of what we said, and just said ‘No, impossible’.

Eventually our ranting paid off, and after I ran off to grab our English speaking friend, we were lead up to the police chiefs office. After a 15-minute discussion, in which he considered our case, it became apparent that head honcho thought we were journalists heading to Daraa, and was particularly concerned that phil already had two void exit stamps from Turkey, and Cindy and me, one. Our English speaking friend reassured him, and commented on how he had experience of seeing journalists, and we were not entering for that purpose, he was sure. After a little deliberation came the verdict we had been waiting for, ‘Okay, the two with visas can go through, Phil must return and fly’. It wasn’t ideal, but we could continue. The project had been saved from the brink of collapse.

Phil was promptly escorted back to Turkey by a police officer, and after another hour or so sorting through customs papers, and an arbitrary $40 ‘local tax’, Cindy and myself entered Syria, and began what would be the most crucial leg of our journey so far.