![\"\"](\"\/wp-content\/uploads\/2010\/10\/P7093702.jpg\" "\\"Morning")
<\/a><\/p>\nWoody was feeling a bit under the weather, with one foot off the merry-go-round as we say.\u00a0 Whatever the diagnosis, coffee would certainly be part of the cure.\u00a0 Walking outside, we found the lobby to be full of travelers mulling about in preparation for the day.<\/p>\n
Woody had opted for a haircut the night before, one of the minimal variety, which brings a certain intensity of persona.\u00a0 Coupled with sunken eyes and oblique posture resulting from his stomach aliment, the other travelers silently moved back from his and Claudia’s path as they descended the stairs.\u00a0 They crouched down to inspect an insect on the sidewalk.<\/p>\n
Meanwhile, I chatted with the travelers who seemed like an odd bunch.\u00a0 One slight blond man with short cropped hair wore tight black cheap monday<\/a> jeans and carried a cheap monday tote bag.\u00a0 “Do you work for cheap monday?” I asked.<\/p>\n “No, I just like the brand. \u00a0 But I am Swedish.”\u00a0 In conversation, we shared plans for the day with each other.\u00a0 A student of Arabic in Damascus, \u00a0 he was spending the weekend in Latakia.\u00a0 Today he would take a bus north to the “beautiful and deserted” beaches outside the city.\u00a0 Somehow Latakia seemed to be filled with a mysterious contingent of Scandinavian hipsters. \u00a0I pictured him walking in short James Bond style swim trunks with an orange sunset in the distance as Syrian families gazed on.<\/p>\n Bidding him farewell, Claudia, Woody and I began strolling in search of coffee.\u00a0 At an odd time during the weekend, the people’s coffee was not an easy find.\u00a0 We settled on a basement-level cafe that served it up piping hot in paper cups.\u00a0 At times like this, with a member of the team under the weather, we self prescribe water, rest, and if it can be stomached, food.<\/p>\n Food was the next order of business, and with the known quantity of Samer’s paste restaurant, we ventured up the hill to feast again.<\/p>\n Next door, the hookah establishment and tea house did not yet have customers, and graciously allowed me to photograph a few of their paintings, which had been done on the large mirrors that hung on the wall.<\/p>\n Woody was just on the better side of being able to wheel, and with the perennial pull of the activity we find so magnetic, we headed out on the cycles to explore.\u00a0 Our first encounter was with the same bicycle mounted coffee vendor, and one of his clientele. \u00a0 He smoked 100 millimeter\u00a0 cigarettes which dangled from his triangular head like the hand of a metronome.<\/p>\n Bidding adieu, we mounted the cycles and passed through the impressive port of Latakia in the midday light.<\/p>\n As we continued to ride through the center of town and began to break into the northern sections of the city, Woody called a waypoint.\u00a0 The stomach problem persisted, and it was time to take a rest.\u00a0 Conversing about the best course of action, I decided to continue wheeling, heading north and visiting one of the fabled beaches.\u00a0 At a field of green stalks, we parted ways.<\/p>\n The road north was a gorgeous and wide highway with light traffic and even a few other wheelers.\u00a0 The breeze, sunlight, and road conditions made it especially enjoyable. \u00a0Riding alone was a new feeling, and one that returned my frame of mind to many past lives on my road bike in California, Japan, Long Island, and Cape Cod.\u00a0 Eventually, the resort district of the north enveloped me, and I had the opportunity to wheel around scoping out the different offerings.<\/p>\n With a penchant for typography, I opted for Le Meridien, with its gutsy use of ornate script paired with ultra-utilitarian Futura<\/a>.<\/p>\n AsiaWheeling has a penchant for crashing hotels, and so naturally I wheeled through the gate and began to make my way around the the edifice to the beach.\u00a0 I was past security and the beach was right there.\u00a0 But something didn’t feel right.\u00a0 I felt like asking for trouble and seeing what happened, to be at once legitimate and naive.\u00a0 What was the process of being a strange customer here?\u00a0 How would I be treated by all levels of the staff?<\/p>\n So beginning my experiment, I wheeled the bike over to the distracted security guard, who then motioned and huffed that I could not have my bike within the confines of the parking lot, so I locked it outside.\u00a0 Returning, I asked him where the beach was, and he pointed me toward reception.\u00a0 Inside the grandiose lobby, the young staff plastered on smiles for a busload of demanding guests.\u00a0 “Where is the beach?”\u00a0 I asked, and they waved me through without a question.\u00a0 Outside, something was still not right.\u00a0 I sauntered down to the beach and found a prime chaise lounge where I rested my camera and Panama hat.<\/p>\n Now I would have to change into my suit.\u00a0 I walked into the locker room, and thought for a moment to change, but my experiment was not yet complete.\u00a0 I still had not been asked to become a customer.\u00a0 Plus, it seemed as a customer, I would\u00a0 earn a locker key.\u00a0 Outside, I asked they young man attending to the beach admission kiosk how I could acquire a\u00a0 locker key, and he showed me the price schedule with ultimate cheer and understanding.\u00a0 For guests, it was free, and for families and women during off-peak hours, there was a nominal fee to visit the beach.\u00a0 It increased during the weekend (today was Saturday), and for single men, the fee was double.\u00a0 Here I was looking at a complexly tiered schedule of prices, and if I indeed wanted to be a customer, I would be subject to poignant price discrimination.\u00a0 At the very least, I consoled myself, the beach would probably not be full of single men.<\/p>\n Casually, I had been exchanging text messages with Hiba, the Palestinian Swede we met on the bus to Latakia. We planned to meet up in the evening.\u00a0 She explained that her brother would be joining her, and that her strict family wouldn’t allow her to come home later than ten.\u00a0 Stopping by the hotel to freshen up, I found Woody increasingly on the mend though not yet at 100%.\u00a0 With a bit of faith, I dawned a white shirt and headed out, wondering what this experience chaperoned by a 19-year old B-Boy<\/a> would be like.<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a>Paying the fee, and now a customer, I began to ask for things.\u00a0 Did they have a newspaper?\u00a0 No.\u00a0 Nothing to read?\u00a0 No Economist or National Geographic?\u00a0 Nothing.\u00a0 Just me and the beach.\u00a0 All in all, the experience was relaxing and zen-like.\u00a0 Swimming in the water, watching the jet-skiers play, taking a dip in the pool, and spilling a million thoughts down on paper about gourmet ketchup<\/a> cleared the head quite well. \u00a0Soaking up the sun for hours and draining my water bottle, I thanked the team there and mounted back on the cycle to return.<\/p>\n