T A B L E+T A L K Florence and paradise: Same difference? Discuss Italy's enchanted city in the Wanderlust area of Table Talk R E C E N T L Y Passages By David Downie Enchanted Liguri Mondo pesto: Liguria's green cuisine (12/22/97) Surreal Gourmet By Bob Blumer Chicken soup with matzo balls for the soul (12/19/97) Passages By John Krich "Won Ton Lust": The best twice-cooked pork in China (12/18/97) Pop goes the cathedral By Laura Miller New book reveals architectural triumphs (12/17/97) The Yukon Quest By Laura Johnston Mush! Racing 1,000 miles by dog sled (12/16/97) - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Browse the Wanderlust archives - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Your virtual travel agency - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -		_______AN UNFORGETTABLE TALE OF TWO _______MEN, A BOY AND A CAGED FALCON _______ON CHRISTMAS DAY IN DAMASCUS. BY LOUIS CasaBIANCA | When I realized that I would be traveling alone over Christmas, I resolved to ignore the holiday and act as if Christmas simply didn't exist that year. When Dec. 20 found me in Bethlehem, I realized that this might be difficult. Faced with the prospect of being alone and anonymous during Bethlehem's Christmas frenzy, I then resolved to hide from the holiday in a place where I was sure Christmas would be ignored: Damascus, Syria. After all, no less a travel authority than Mark Twain had written, in "The Innocents Abroad": "In Damascus they so hate the very sight of a foreign Christian that they want no intercourse whatever with him ... It is the most fanatical Muhammadan purgatory out of Arabia. Where you see one green turban of a hadji elsewhere (the honored sign that my lord has made a pilgrimage to Mecca), I think you will see a dozen in Damascus." From Israel I caught a bus to Amman, Jordan, where I caught another bus to Damascus. At the border station, I stood in line with a sour-looking group of North Koreans. Each of them had a Kim-Il Sung button on the lapel of his wrinkled black suit, and as the border station was decorated with no less than 30 portraits of Hafez al-Assad, I felt that my quest to escape any reminder of Christmas would soon be an unqualified success. Peace and joy were certainly the last things I felt as the two dictators grinned at each other across the dusty room, and my visa and passport were checked and re-checked. After a few days in Damascus, I realized that the Syrian people, Mark Twain notwithstanding, had other ideas about my quest. Almost to a person they were remarkably friendly, curious and generous, and my greatest danger among them was death from overfeeding due to their offers of lamb and falafel. The population of Syria is also about 10 percent Christian, enough to make Christmas a national holiday. And in one of those bizarre cultural traits that are impossible to explain, seemingly every car in Syria was equipped with an electronic noisemaker that beeped when the car was in reverse. Soon after my arrival in Damascus, I was staring in shock as a car pulled out to the electronic strains of "What Child is This?" "Jingle Bells" was another favorite on the Syrian car-beeper hit parade that year, as was "Frosty the Snowman." Surrounded by friendly people, and pursued by carol-playing cars, I gave up my attempt to ignore Christmas and decided to make the best holiday I could under the circumstances. N E X T+P A G E+| Freedom for Christmas