Damascus

A country born out of Roman, Greek, Byzantine and French cultures; Syria is a vibrant mixture of races who are all represented religiously, architecturally and culturally. Nowhere is this more apparent than the streets of Old Damascus, the oldest inhabited city in the world.

Entering the Hamidiyya souq, a vast market covered by a curved corrugated iron roof, pockmarked with holes that let in shafts of light, you will be swept along by the tide of shoppers. Tall men wearing checked keffiyehs and brown cloaks amble along absorbed in conversation, women shrouded and veiled in black search for bargains, whilst toddlers trail behind them and children lick ice cream sprinkled with a topping of pistachio.

The sheer variety of what is on offer is mindboggling.  There are collections of jewellery, shoes, backgammon sets, rugs, scarves, fabric and curved daggers. Tiny stalls sell the most delicious cashew and pistachio nuts, spice shops display cumin, coriander, saffron and cardamom in a visual and olfactory feast.

Emerge into sunlight and what remains of the triumphal arch that marks the remains of the Temple of Jupiter. The arch guards the gate to the majestic Ummayad mosque, one of the most magnificent buildings of Islam, second only to the mosques of Mecca and Medina. Its history is however unequalled.  Ibn Battutah described the Umayyad Mosque as "the most magnificent mosque in the world". Indeed it is a prestigious monument and despite the ravages of time it is still clear to see the sumptuousness of the materials used and the quality of decorations.

The marble white of the courtyard outside the mosque was dazzling in stark contrast to the black worn by the women. As children slid playfully on the marble floor I was struck at how the mosque's role was not merely religious but a social gathering place. It was very much a part of society, something that the churches of England lost years ago. East of the mosque, the Old City continues to be full of magic and charm with its bazaars, blind alleys, mosques and minarets, courtyards, street vendors, carts of almonds - green with furry skin that are crunchy and bitter to taste. Plunge into the tortuous alleys where senses are ignited by the heady aromas of bags of spices, brimming but never spilling, the sizzling smell of falafel and kebabs, the murmur of conversation and the burble of business and barter.

In these streets the modern world is left behind and history presses in on all sides. There is no bustle, no traffic, only worn streets that lazily wind their way between old, traditional houses. There is a lack of conformity and symmetry in the houses, each is individual and distinct, and in defiant contrast to the sameness and uniformity that characterises the new town. Walls slope, a riot of angles, leaning and wobbling, struggling for balance as if caught in freeze frame before being devoured by the earth.

Behind the walls and within the courtyard, family life goes on. Occasionally a door left ajar allows a sneak look into the world inside, the agreeable courtyards, neat and clean, swept daily, with orchids and a forest of potted plants. In many ways these Damascene homes are a metaphor for Syria as a whole - uninviting façade that conceal an inviting courtyard and many pleasant surprises.