You are welcome

DAMASCUS, Syria - I was lost and had to extricate myself from the beautiful but labyrinthine streets of the Old City in 15 minutes to meet up with a chain-smoking American I had just met. I really didn't even know which way was vaguely the right direction. Things were looking grim.

I asked one of the garbage collectors who ply the cobblestone streets in tiny trucks which way to go. Instead of giving me directions he told me to hop in and drove me to my meet-up spot.

That's just the latest example of how embarrassingly friendly people are in the Middle East. "You are welcome" is what most people say when I tell them I am visiting from the states and they mean it (a notable exception is the thieving cabbies that ply the Levant, though even they are pleasant when they're not trying to rip you off). Of all the transport I've taken in my travels it is also the first time (and probably last time, but who knows) I've hitched a ride on a garbage truck.

You have to be careful what you say as the person with the jacket you just complimented is likely to take it off and insist you take it (wriggling out of that situation is tricky and can be insulting).

At dinner last night, after a ridiculously good meal of lemon lamb and cashew rice, I ordered a desert and then, on top of that, the waiter brought an overflowing basket of fruit and an assortment of pastries, dripping with honey.

"On the house. You are welcome."

This was a fine gesture, but my gut was already begging for the next belt loop. But it is a definite no-no to refuse food, so I forced myself to eat a banana and some of the pastries (I know, boo-hoo).

This was all after the Syrian laborer crammed next to me in the '87 Chevy Caprice that shuddered the two hours from Beirut to the border helped make sure I didn't get ripped off at a side-of-the-road money changer.

He also apologized profusely for his country when I got hassled at the border (I ended up stuck there for eight hours, but that's another story), as if he had any control over the situation.

It all just adds to the already appreciable charm of both Lebanon and Syria. I'm staying in Damscus' "Old City" and in this part of the world the emphasis is on old. It really is like a living museum, with winding narrow streets, centuries-old buildings, and a thriving souq (market).

In that spirit I took the plunge, quite literally, today and signed up for a full man scrub at a 12th century hammam (bath house). Even in secular Syria most things are fairly gender segregated and this place is a men only affair.

Not knowing the protocol or much of the language was a bit daunting at first in a place where I was eventually supposed to take my clothes off, but the employees were very kind (Although when they told me to disrobe I guess I jumped the gun on the towel blind they were readying to cover the unmentionables - I suppose I'm a little less bashful than the Arab street). In the end it was among the more relaxing hours of my life - sauna, steam bath, massage, scrub, mint tea ($12!).

The only (big) problem here, is having to watch what you say, which I will do now and expound on later.

PS: Learning the Arabic alphabet is serious kick in the ass.