Simply put…
We often travel in search of beauty: breathtaking landscapes, turquoise beaches, and mountains touching the sky. We arrive, feel amazed, take photos — and then, after only a few days, we grow bored. Yes, bored in the middle of all that beauty.
On the other hand, there are places that lack the traditional features of a “perfect destination.” No luxury hotels, no extraordinary services, perhaps no services at all. And yet, you arrive there and suddenly feel that you never want to leave. As though your soul is being recharged.
I often asked myself: why do we visit countries that are astonishing by every standard, enjoy them briefly, then quickly feel routine and repetition — while there are other places where we wish time itself would stop?
The answer I reached was both simple and profound: people.
Yes, people are the ones who create paradise. Human warmth, cultural richness, and those spontaneous moments that connect you with a stranger — perhaps for only a few seconds — yet remain carved into your memory as though they lasted a lifetime. A sincere smile from a roadside vendor, a passing conversation with someone at a café, the laughter of children in a narrow alley… these are the moments that create meaning.
"Natural landscapes amaze the eyes… but people amaze the soul."
Simplicity is not a lack of something. It is another kind of richness.
When life is simple, people become more present. No screens stealing attention. No luxury numbing emotions. Just you, the moment, and the people around you. And in that instant, you realize that paradise is not a geographical location — it is an energy. An energy created by culture, authenticity, and genuine human connection.
I have always believed that a journey is not about the destination, but about the road leading to it. About the stories born along the way, the unexpected moments, and the faces you did not know in the morning yet somehow became part of your memory by nightfall.
Natural scenery impresses the eyes, but people touch the soul.
And the difference between the two is the difference between a beautiful image you forget after a week, and a warm memory that stays with you forever.
It is exactly like the feeling that the best food in the world is the food your mother cooks. This feeling is almost universal, even if it is not objectively true. But the connection between that food and love — and the energy she pours into everything she prepares for you — shapes your belief that it is the most delicious meal imaginable.
"Some places do not impress you with luxury… but with the way they make you feel at home."
And in our love for Syria, we are not searching for the most beautiful place in absolute terms. Rather, we search — and everyone who visits it searches — for the warmth of a place that makes you feel as though you are in a home you somehow recognize, even if you have never visited it before.
The country lacks many things, and we miss many comforts. Yet the warmth of human connection, in all its simplicity, remains one of the greatest reasons for the waves of longing that overwhelm us in exile — and one of the reasons why those who visit Syria often wish to return again.
Perhaps this is also part of the reason Damascus became the oldest continuously inhabited capital in the world: this simple yet elusive secret of spontaneous and authentic human connection.
And preserving that connection may be just as important as preserving any other essential element of life in this country.