So this morning Ali and I made the trek to the Syrian border in hopes of experiencing the many wonders of Damascus and the Old City. We were so very excited and every time we successfully proceeded through another checkpoint at the border, our little hearts filled with an overwhelming optimism. I had heard stories from other Americans who had traveled to Syria that it was tough, they held Americans at the checkpoints for 6 hours just to spite you. However, I was determined to get through it efficiently and politely.
We reach the last checkpoint, the Syrian immigration office. We confidently fill out our immigration forms and stride up to the desk labeled "foreigners". The immigration officer took our U.S. passports and immediately informed us that we need to get a visa from the U.S. embassy in order to enter Syria. You've. Got. To. Be. Kidding. When we're going back through the border into Jordan, the Jordanian immigrations officers told us that this policy was new and was being implemented as of yesterday.
So, we head back to Amman. Well, actually we head back to the city of Irbid in a taxi with a mother, her two wild toddlers and one collicky, fresh-out-the-womb infant that she liked to carelessly shove over to her three year old daughter when she was busy.
Then we headed to Amman from there.
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