Lost in a Castle, Syria Style

“I would hate to get lost in here,” I say to my Japanese travel companions for the day. We’re standing inside the ultimate Middle Eastern crusader castle–Qala’at al-Hosn, aka, Krak de Chevaliers–in Syria. It’s beautiful, but it’s simultaneously eerie. The kind of place where you can easily envision people being held as prisoners and tortured until their death.

“Same here,” Shinobu says, giggling nervously. He smiles at his girlfriend Chika, who also giggles.

We met at the Syrian border recently and have been on the same backpacker circuit, bumping in to each other at various points. We’re happy to have met up in nearby Hama—a conservative little town known for its ancient water wheels—and to be together at the castle.

A half hour later, 15 minutes before Krak is supposed to close and when we should be finding our way out—a mysterious man with dark hair and a beard, who speaks virtually no English and sort of grunts when he talks, gets our attention.

“Welcome,” he says, gesturing that we should follow him. He looks like a castle employee or a security guard—sort of—and so we follow him. Perhaps he’s going to show us the exit?

Next thing you know, we’re sitting on a veranda with him and he’s bringing out pita and hummus and pulling out the shisha pipe. Wherever we are, it feels separate from the rest of the castle.

“No thank you…we have to leave,” I try to tell him in my extremely limited Arabic. He doesn’t get it, of course. I begin to sense that he’s lonely and been waiting for us—people to spend time with—for a very long time. He begins to push the food in our direction.

“How much?” Shinobu asks. Like me, he’s wondering if this is free or if there’s a catch.

“Free!” the man says, laughing.

“We never try hummus,” Chika says. “I think I try this now.” A hummus virgin? Oh no. What’s he got in the bowl doesn’t look too good. I decide to do the right thing.

“Let me try it first,” I say, dipping my pita into it. It’s awful and I don’t want to say it—just in case he does understand English.

“I think you don’t like it,” Chika asks. “Your face is very serious.” Now, I’m giggling.

The mystery man is now prepping the nargile pipe. He says something in Arabic and passes it to me. It’s not my first time partaking in the shisha experience, so I take a toke—and enjoy it. Chika and Shinobu, however, are newbies. They begin to choke on the smoke, then laugh.

Our host, on the other hand, is an old pro. He takes in the smoke like someone in desperate need of oxygen….inhaling deeply and holding it in as long as possible, before finally exhaling. Each time he does it, he leans his head back, as if in ecstasy.

I wonder if it’s something other than the typical dried fruit. I also worry that his lungs might burst. He seems happy, though, and sort of nutty, I think.

“He seem like crazy man,” Chika says. I laugh. Perhaps he is, I think, but he’s definitely in the moment. Maybe even his own little world.

“OK,” I finally say to him. “We have to go.” I point at my watch, hoping he’ll understand. He doesn’t. Instead, he brings out a bowl of mini sausages. They taste odd—as if precooked and recently defrosted.

“Let’s go,” I say to the Chika and Shinobu. “We can’t miss our taxi.” The sun is now lower in the sky than before and they, like myself, are beginning to feel panicked.

We assume that he’s going to lead us to the exit. We’re wrong. As soon as we leave the veranda, he disappears into the darkness of one of the corridors.

A minute later, we’re completely lost…

“What now?” I ask. Chika and Shinobu aren’t giggling anymore.

“We look at map,” he says. We move to a spot where there’s some light and attempt to figure out what to do. And now, our luck isn’t too good. No matter what we do, we end up more confused. And it’s getting darker and darker. Now, the castle is simply eerie and no longer as beautiful.

“Hey,” a man who appears employee-like says from up above us. “The castle closed at 6 pm.”

“Um,” I say. “We’re very sorry. Can you help us out?”

“No,” he says. “You must stay here now—spend the night.”

“Please, no,” I say. “Help us.”

Then, he disappears. And when Chika realizes it, she looks as if she’s seen a ghost. Shinobu doesn’t look much better. My heart is palpitating.

At minute later, the man comes back, laughing. Perhaps he wanted to scare us as punishment. “OK….I open the door,” he says. The problem? We still don’t know how to get to the exit.

And then, our savior materializes. It’s our mystery man—our special host from before. “Come,” he says. And we follow, like obedient castle slaves, willing to do whatever to earn our freedom. At that point, I would have eaten the bad hummus again.

In minutes, we’re at the large and heavy gate—which only he could open. He laughs as he lets us out.

“I feel like…” Shinobu says. “A prisoner?” I add, completing his sentence. Giggles from him and Chika.

“Yes,” Chika says. “Crazy castle man setting us free now.” I feel relieved as he unlocks the large gate, the entrance-exit. He’s grunting again, laughing and waving goodbye.

Now, back in the taxi, I’m let out a sigh of relief. So do Chika and Shinobu. The taxi driver reveals to us our friend’s true identity: night castle watchman.

I turn and look back at the castle and see that he, crazy castle man, is still waving at us. And laughing. At nothing…nothing at all. And I wonder who will be his next prisoners—backpacker-guests, that is—and if they’ll be as lucky as we were.