Hamidiyah Souk, Damascus

I used to love spending my days strolling through Souq Al Hamidiyah which was always crowded and bustling with people. It was like a city with a labyrinth of tiny alleyways extending out of a wide main street, but all under a domed roof. Down one of the alleyways was a very narrow sfiha (thin circle of bread with a paste spread on it made of meat, tomato, onion, and spices…yum) take-out counter. I would squish past the people at the counter waiting for their sfiha order to reach a set of steep and narrow white marble stairs at the back.

The stairs spiraled up and up forever until finally reaching the third floor that was a wide and expansive square space. Oh, I loved this room; the cozy fabric on the walls and cushions were embroidered with a multitude of rich, warm hues. The multi-coloured rays of sunlight streamed through the ceiling that was made of panels of stained glass. At the far end in front of a dark wood wall with more stained glass panels there were always four musicians playing acoustic instruments; oud (lute), kamanja (violin), naye (bamboo flute) and riqq (fish skin hand drum). Because I was alone I could sit anywhere which meant cozying up beside them.

It was a restaurant with people scattered comfortably among the cushions. I came for the music, not the food, so I only ever ordered french fries and orange Fanta. They played the Syrian classics and people sang along. Some of the songs were so old, no one knew who wrote them. Somehow the embroidered decor and the dark wood inlaid with geometric designs of mother-of-pearl were a reflection of the intricate musical embellishments or was it the other way around? I never knew the name of this place. I just knew how to get to there. It was my temple where prayer was basking in mellow sunshine, greasy french fries and a divine rendition of ‘Ah Ya Helou’.