382
CAIRO TO DAMASCUS
pieces of glass. They handled hot irons and devoured live
snakes."
"Is it the heat or the arak that is making you talk nonsense?"
I asked,
"Look, my friend, I'm a student of these matters. I'm speaking the truth. The more violent forms of the order have been
repressed, but during the Feast of the Ramadan the Dancing
Dervishes perform their rituals, especially in Aleppo where
their leader, the Great Tshelebi, has his headquarters." The
Armenian seized my arm violently. "You are in luck. Here
comes a member of the order. Look. . . ."
Coming toward us was a husky, well-muscled man with a
thick neck and a large round face. He wore an unusual hat.
It was a fez at least three times the ordinary height of
the red Moslem headdress, and it was not red, but brownish
gray.
"Assalamu aleikum," the Dervish greeted.
"Wa aleikum salam," the Armenian responded. Turning to
me, he added: "I know him and have seen him dance. He
whirls like a giant top."
I found the Syrians neat, clean, highly artistic. Many were
descendants of Christians, Jews, Romans, Jacobites, and others
who were forcefully converted and had long since intermingled with the conquering Arab and Turk.
The next day I went shopping—always an exciting adventure in the Orient, but one that can be ruinous to the pocketbook of an American tourist. Most famous of the souks, bazaars, was the Hamidieh, a long vaultlike street lined with
countless small shops protected by corrugated metal sheeting
high above the street level. Here were souks for jewelry, needlework, leatherwork, perfumes, spices and herbs, copperware,
baked goods, tinware, glassware, wholesale cloth, rugs, tapestries, haberdashery—a pageantry of color, crafts, and smells
without parallel in the world! I bought heavy damask ties, a
miniature narghileh, a khaffiya of unusually fine weave, red