Bakdash / Back to Sham

Yesterday, I had an adventure with some friends courtesy of a rental car and an over-ambitious itinerary. We were fueled by the desire to not only see a youth open-mic night in Irbid, but also to see the hills of northern Jordan painted a velvety green and punctuated by red, yellow, and purple spring flowers. Hidden in this itinerary, however, was an even loftier goal of finding Bakdash, the Damascene ice cream shop now open in Irbid due to the influx of Syrian refugees. It was a full day (to say the least), but out of everything that we saw and did, I want to first tell you about the milky and pistachio goodness of Bakdash ice cream. 

Or perhaps I should start with the small detail of what it was like finding the ice cream, and how we spent an hour driving a complete and chaotic circle around Irbid looking for the store. The first man we asked was confident about where it was: "take a left here, then a right at the first light" (excitement!). But we were already late for the open-mic night so we headed off to the event first, and dutifully tried to memorize the many twists and turns away from this confident man. Post-event we wended our way back to where we thought we had asked him, only to be directed away by another man and then another and finally another. When we ended up back across the street from the location of the open-mic night, we knew something had gone terribly wrong. And there, we asked one more man, who directed us three shops down to "Cousins Ice Cream" (failure, defeat, despair). Ready to head back to Amman, one of my friends refused to give up and asked a taxi driver who said "there is one, follow me" (hope!). We drove in the dark, dutifully following his taxi, as cars weaved in and out between the two vehicles, and then somewhere between the McDonalds and the mega gas station, he waved us off down to the right with instructions to "take a left at the first traffic light and it will be across from Mat'aim Zemzem." We did as he told and we found it (elation!).

After indulging in two bowls of Bakdash ice cream, I stood with my friend Zarlasht outside the shop, looking back into the warm yet metallic glow of the store as we waited for our friends to finish up inside. Digesting both the ice cream and the range of emotions I went through as we tried to find the place, I explained that it's not so much the flavors of Bakdash ice cream that I'd been longing for, but for the institution itself. And, mainly, the strong desire to be transported back to Souk Al-Hamidiyya in Damascus, to be able to see locals and tourists alike pushing their way through the crowd to the counter for a bowl of the ice cream on a hot summer day. 

Then we started talking about the significance of something as simple as ice cream as a marker of everyday life. Wrapped up in a scoop of ice cream are the implications of having the money, the time, the freedom, and the safety to walk up to a store counter to buy ice cream then sit with your friends and family and enjoy the calm moment when nothing matters more than the flavors of the ice cream mixing with the pieces of pistachio as you scrape the metal bowl clean with your spoon.

And Zarlasht knew exactly what I meant. Born in Afghanistan, Zarlasht's family left the country once when she was young then again (and for good) at the age of 11. They lived in the USSR before landing permanently in Britain at the age of 15. She only recently went back to Kabul to visit, and one of the many changes she noticed was the absence of the ice cream carts in the city's popular public park which is now a fraction of the size that is once was. There was no one strolling in the park, taking a moment to delight in a small bowl of ice cream.

Thoughts as simple as Syrian ice cream pop up occasionally as I live my life here in Jordan, yet the Syrian crisis is something I've avoided talking about on the blog because there is really not much I can offer on the subject except concern, sadness, and nostalgia. Only a few hours to the north of me is Syria, a country I only lived in for a few months, but a country I completely fell in love with. But more than the country itself are all the people I met, spoke with, and got to know. Are they happy? Are they safe? Are they alive? 

As I told her, some day, we will go to Souk Al-Hamidiyya, sit down with our metal bowls full of Bakdash goodness, and delight in watching Syrians enjoy one of the most basic but life-affirming Damascene decisions: milk or chocolate? Until then, Sham, you and your people are in my heart.