Ladies, Hide Your Toes

After spending a week in Damascus, I've come to accept the fact that I am absolutely in love with this city. The moment we drove into town from the airport, I knew I would enjoy my time here.

Damascus is the oldest city in the world—dating back at least 6,000 years—and the history of the city shows all over: in its buildings, in its streets, in the way people live their lives. The city is built on a mountain, growing upwards. It's full of charming little road ways, comparable to the alleyways of an old Roman city, impossible to drive through (though, Syrians manage to do it just fine). Much of the city's buildings are old and run down, but instead of looking like a slum, the antiquity is what makes Damascus so lovely. The city lacks modernity as we know it in the West, from its architecture to its people.

The people of Damascus are one of a kind. They possess the boisterousness and hospitality that characterizes the rest of the Mediterranean with an extra charm of their own. They tend to be hot-tempered, but as quickly as they get angry, they cool down. Everyone here wants to help, perhaps a little too much, but they usually mean well.

Damascus can be considered liberal in some ways, especially compared to many other Arab cities, but Middle Eastern culture as a whole is conservative, particularly in terms of one's sexuality. Women are valued creatures here, and sexually repressed men treasure every inch of a woman's body they can glimpse as a woman passes by—including her feet. Especially her feet. There seems to be an odd, culture-wide foot fetish here—something I was welcomed with when I arrived here.

I was wearing open sandals as we were walking amongst vegetable stands when, from the corner of my eye, I noticed some men shamelessly staring at me. Needless to say I was incredibly uncomfortable and a bit confused—I was dressed conservatively and I had just gotten off the plane, I wasn't exactly looking my sexiest. I didn't dare look directly at them as I didn't want to give them too much face, until I finally had enough. I prepared my newly-learned insults and my death stare to get these guys off my back when I turned around and realized that they weren't looking exactly at me..at least not where I expected them to be looking. Their eyes were pointed downwards, not at my legs or my behind, but at my feet! They were having some intense conversation, analyzing my freshly pedicured toes, perhaps watching how they move. I was so surprised, I didn't know how to react so I kept my mouth shut, averted my eyes quickly and walked away. They looked at my feet with such intense desire, I felt like I was walking around naked!

In the coming days, from observation and conversation, I learned that Syrian men have a thing for feet—who knew? I'm no longer surprised by it, nor am I scared of it. I'm more conservative now in the exposure of my toes, and I'm prepared to use the same offended death-stare to protect them as I would any of my other, more womanly, body parts. So ladies, should you come to Damascus, beware or hide your toes.