The crossing into Jordan from Egypt was an experience in passing to order from the chaotic. Passing from Jordan into Syria was an experience of passing into the grim and ominous. A mined no-man's land separates the 2 countries at the Ar Ramtha border crossing, the border guards were armed with machine guns, bribes had to be paid - slipped into passports before passing into Daraa, a decrepit, rubbish filled town overlooked by billboards and posters of the smirking Bashar Al-Assad. You know he's a despot when he plasters his face all over the place. Our first impression of foreboding proved to be justified when the country later tore itself apart in civil war, with Daraa being at the start of it all in mid-March, just a month after we left.

• Civil war took over the country after we left, just like in Egypt with its riots and civil unrest, in Turkey in a subsequent tour in 2012 and Thailand in 2013. Coincidence? Perhaps. The Curse Of The Ruins? Possibly. Greece had its riots before we got there.
• Bruce took photos of civilian planes at the airport and got monstered by security as a result. Photos deleted; and the tone of the country, set upon arrival, was repeated on departure.
• Rita's "shite and briney objects". For her souvenir spoonerism collection.
• Alcohol was not hard to find - Egypt and Jordan were the same. The hotels and restaurants we patronised all had well stocked bars and most of the presumably local customers were indulging - men and women.
• The clamour at the window of a bakery nearby our Antique Kahn hotel in Old Damascus would put Friday night outside a discount knock shop to shame. When the shutter on the window in the wall of that bakery was raised the shouting and arm waving from men, women and kids was something to behold. I don't believe it was due to shortages - there was no hint of that during our stay and people were getting great armfuls of the flat loaves that were as big as man-hole covers.
• The ubiquitous hookah. The waterpipe called variously shish, shisha, narghile, arghila, bubble pipe or whatever depending on where you are. In an Aqaba cafe in Jordan I called for a shisha and was immediately identified by fellow patrons as someone who'd been in Egypt. The Jordanians apparently know it as a shish.
  Anti-smokers turn away now. I really enjoy a puff on a shish - solo, or in tandem with a friend on a dual-hosed jobbie. Non-smokers need to be cautious if you're ever tempted to try one, they take forever to smoke and head-spins are a certainty. Sean face-planted into the falafel after a session in Damascus. The newby!
  There's nothing like sitting out on a Middle Eastern footpath and toking on a shish, sipping an Egyptian tea or Arabic coffee and people watching. Cheap, laid-back and relaxing.
• The fabulous Bakdash ice cream parlour at the Souq al-Hamidiyya on Straight Street should not be missed. Chewy, elastic ice cream made with gum - pounded with hammers and served covered with pistachios. The owners opened a branch in Amman, Jordan following the outbreak of the Syrian civil war so it's still accessible to those not prepared to die for a delicious dairy dessert.
• Worth seeing - the National Museum of Damascus. Arranged into 5 wings of prehistoric, ancient, classical, islamic and contemporary exhibits. An exchange of backsheesh with a guard and she allowed otherwise prohibited photos (flashless - for discretion or to protect the exhibits, or both). Reinforcing corruption or going along with accepted practices? The nearby markets were worth a browse - the source for Sean's oud, handmade out the back of a small musical instruments shop.