As is often the case, getting there was part of the fun. Getting there in time, I might add. After missing my alarm that morning, I was racing to get to Sarouj in time all day. After arrival at Hama, I was pretty unlucky at leaving the town famous for its norias, as a microbus left right when I arrived. Asking around to see if I could charter a taxi ultimately also gave me the solution to my transportation problem, as the driver of the microbus promised to take me the last stretch from Al Hamra to Sarouj, one of the villages with beehive houses.
The microbus was so crammed that I could only slightly stand up, and after some ten minutes, the driver pulled up in a garage. When he opened the engine compartment, the steam quickly filled the car and we could not see anything anymore. After we finally arrived in Al Hamra, the other passengers left the micro bus and the driver took off for the remaining drive to Sarouj. While the sun was going down fast just behind our backs, we were speeding through the Syrian landscape. I spotted the beehive houses from a distance, and when the microbus came to a standstill, I directly headed to the cluster of beehive houses.
The brownish colour of the houses was turning deep red as I watched the sun go down on the horizon. Their shapes appeared extremely aesthetical and beautiful, and I marvelled at their simple, yet efficient design. The houses are small, but their construction ensures a quite constant temperature inside. While I was clicking away and enjoying the view of these marvellous structures, children from the village came to greet me and ask me for pen and photos. One of the eternal travellers questions came to my mind: do they realize the beauty they are surrounded by, or do they just see foreigners as strange intruders in their reality? As the last sunrays lost their power and permitted the skies to turn dark blue, I saw the contours of the huts turning into silhouets against an orange horizon.
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