Swimming to Syria

Dedication To those who invited me into their homes, into their lives, and into their families of which there were many more than I can list here. To Fuad, who found me when I was lost (literally) then introduced me to his family, where to jog in Aleppo, and the oldest private club in Syria that enabled countless bus trips to archeological sites; to Aziz who could expatiate on the architecture and history of all those places and so much more and, to his wife, Cindy, who offered insights of another kind; to Issa who made a place for me in the artistic world over which he presided; to Fuwaz and Wassim, physicians who provided insights on medicine and literature, and their wives, Taghrid and Lena, who offered a window into social and cultural interactions; to Juliet who did far more than any diplomat was ever expected to do for her Fulbright charges—locate the perfect apartment, take me to inaccessible places, or make arrangements for me to get to them, including the U.S. so I could see my father before he died; to my former colleagues, especially Najla and Rafah, who welcomed me to the university; to my former students who responded enthusiastically to whatever I inflicted on them pedagogically and to those who translated my poems into Arabic; to those friends who visited and with whom I saw Syria anew: Mari and the Armenian community, Hans Henrik and Inger with new historical insights; my sister Heide who managed to speak fluent food cross-culturally and my mother who I expect to spring alive to see what I’ve written about her. And, to Neal, of course.