My birthdays suck. There is an empty period in the middle of June when apparently everyone goes out of town, dooming my birthday get-togethers to an attendance of 10. Oftentimes I'm the one out of town, feigning good cheer as my grandparents hound me about my poor Chinese and then present me with the traditional red envelope containing $20. It's not that I'm not grateful for what I have, but my birthdays are a real lowlight of any year. This year I experiment in something new: birthday with strangers.

Lattakia
I meet Riad Hotel manager Abdullah and long-term guest Melanie from New Zealand upon arrival in Hama. Abdullah promises something special for my birthday. The following day I meet Nick from England, another long-term guest who is taking informal Arabic lessons from Abdullah. That night I meet my Hama boys, Runa from Norway and Grant from Australia, and plan on a birthday dinner.

Birthday arrives. Feeling old? Check. But with a full day planned there's no time to dwell on it. Abdullah is taking a beach day with Nick and Melanie and invited me to join. I wanted to visit the Qala'at Salah-ah Din, and since public transportation there is difficult, Abdullah's driver will take me.

The '52 Pontiac

I'm giddy the instant I see our vehicle—I knew to expect beautiful vintage cars for tours in Hama but it's still thrilling. The '52 Pontiac has been lovingly maintained and even updated with power windows, plush seats, and A/C. It's a bit cramped inside for four passengers, but we have a fun family roadtrip gabbing and snacking the entire time.

First stop is in a village a short way out of Hama. Melanie knows a local girl there and will be spending the night with her next week. While Abdullah and Melanie visit the family, Nick and I explore a small ruined Crusader castle nearby. No official tickets and no signage, just mysterious crumbling rocks. I am almost positive this is Qala'at Abou Quobeis. The level of ruination is in stark contrast with popular sights like Krak des Chevaliers and the castle's post high above provides gorgeous views of the valley.

We come upon small children. It's obvious this is their playground, and I flash back to the extremely ordinary jungle gyms, rocky creeks, and vegetable gardens of my childhood. Nick breaks out Arabic 101, but we don't get much guidance beyond that is the castle and this is the souk. I grab my camera and am delighted when one diva boy continuously pushes a smaller boy out of shot. Of course, they turn out to be brothers.

We rejoin Abdullah and Melanie in the village. Instantly Melanie's friend invites me to spend the night as well. I'm touched by her generosity and eagerness but will not be in Hama that long. We have tea with the family as child after child pours out of the small house clown-car style. Melanie's friend is 27, a true oddity, as she is unmarried and does not want children. She is so infectiously happy I wouldn't have guessed she feels burdened with caring for her relatives' kids. I wish I had the chance to know her better.

We climb back in the Pontiac and head toward Lattakia. More Arabic lessons. More kunafe scooped stickily out of the pan. The scenery on this drive is lovely, mountainous, and green. In Lattakia the others hit the beach as I stretch out in the front seat. To the all-important mafi mushkala (no problem), Abdullah has added walay hemok (no worries) to my vocabulary. The driver's English is halting, and he lights up whenever I toss out one of these useful phrases.

The steep, narrow road winds sharply through the scenic countryside. Every time we approach a blind spot I expect another car to hurtle around the bend. From the road I see the castle is engulfed in pine trees, perched on a mountain top. Towering cliffs and a stark rock needle mark the entrance to the castle's grounds.

The Qala'at itself is not as well-preserved or as extensive as Krak but is still beautiful. Entry fee for students is 10SYP. The former crusader castle is named after famous Muslim commander Salah ah-Din, who seized it in 1188. A path has been created to make exploration a bit clearer, although several times I find myself walking on narrow ledges along the tower walls and can't remember why. The most striking parts are the large underground reservoirs.

Qala'at Salah-ah Din is a popular day trip among locals as well, so while at times I peacefully wander the grounds alone, other times I am in the middle of a large chattering family or bumping into the same couple (obviously seeking privacy) three times.

We return to Lattakia to pick up the others. Abdullah tries to convince me to come to the beach, but I had been sort of unclear on the day's schedule and am unprepared for beaching. Instead the driver and I eat ice cream and gaze at the endlessly blue water. Abdullah first promises a hearty lunch of fish for our coastal trip, but at the last minute changes his mind and decides we will eat manaeesh instead. It's already 3pm, but I love manaeesh, so I hold out. We stop by a roadside stand in the middle of nowhere. Abdullah is familiar with this one. The stall is unfortunately out of cheese but heats several of the thyme and red pepper flatbreads for us to go. Adding hot chili oil to the crumbs we have littered all over the beautiful Pontiac, we munch our way back to Hama.

On return to Riad, Abdullah assures me the daytrip was entirely free as a birthday gift and then sweetly presents me with a lovely inlaid mother-of-pearl wooden jewelry box.

At night I meet my boys at the Cairo Hotel next door. A round of well-wishes. The Cairo's manager recommends Dream House on the other side of town. We walk through the busy streets at 9pm, confident of the way. We get mildly lost but eventually we find Dream House—I joke we'll get lost for real on the way back. As we enter, a huge party of women falls silent. Abruptly they start talking VERY loudly, and we laugh, assuming they are gossiping about the odd foreigners. We're certain we've stumbled upon a private affair when the waiters stare at us from afar for quite some time, but eventually we are given menus. Pizza and soup are listed, prompting a break from falafel and kebabs—after all, what better time to splash out on a $4 dinner than a birthday? We should have stuck with traditional food, as the pizza and soup is pretty bad. I also order a mint kebab for everyone to share, but it never arrives. The waiter is contrite but quick to bring us more very bad beer, and as we've lost our appetites, all is forgiven.

A mere hour and a half later, the streets are dead. Wandering aimlessly, we meet a boy who gives us directions to the nearest liquor store. We cling to our newly purchased warm beers for comfort, despite having nowhere to sit and drink. We meet another nice boy, and true to Syrian hospitality, he elects to lead us home rather than simply direct us. Runa, the Arabic expert, tells him our hotel is in the old city. As they wander off ahead, Grant and I notice we have passed this particular group of nargileh-smoking men before. We decide we have no reason for suspicions... until we turn around again. It turns out Runa was unaware there is more than one "old city" and he hadn't been specific enough.

On the terrace of the Cairo Hotel we down our now-hot beers, chainsmoke cigarettes, and devolve into rambling thoughts. My birthday has passed, and it was far better than I ever expected.

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