Everyone calls out "welcome!" as I pass. It's said with utmost sincerity...rarely does anyone add "...and if you want, please look in my shop!" Simply, welcome. Enjoy my country, I'm delighted to see you here.

At a juice stand, a man asks me excitedly if I have visited Libya. I say no, regretfully. Later, he pays for my delicious mixed juice, dramatically declaring, "I am people of Libya." Still later he sneaks a photo of me.

Headscarves stall in the Damascus souk

A group of men accosts me in the market, cajole me to sit down, and shove a sugary drink into my hand. It's all just another day of Middle Eastern friendliness, until the five staring young men hand me a "special Syrian" cucumber and wait expectantly. I'm 10% sure they're just sharing food and 90% sure they're just boys who want to watch me eat a cucumber. Graciously, I take my leave.

At the internet café, the smiling young man hands out free cups of cola to patrons. It appears to be the Pepsi knock-off, Mandarin Cola. The Coke knock-off has the best name—Master Cola!—but contrary to my expectations, they do have real Coke and Pepsi as well as other Western products. At least it's nothing like the "I'm lovin' it! McDonald's: behind the Luxor Temple" billboard I saw in Egypt. No American fast-food chains anywhere in Syria.

I misunderstand a price sign atop a beautiful pyramid of baklava—thinking it's rather expensive at 25SYP for a single piece, I ask for just two. The bakery clerk is startled. He begins piling two kilos of baklava on the scale. When we realize the misunderstanding, he laughs, and gives me the two pieces I originally wanted free of charge.

Kids at Qala'at Abou Quobeis

On the minibus from Mar Musa, the most beautiful little boy I've ever seen can't stop grinning at me. I want to keep him. In a taxi, the driver immediately asks me to come home with him. He claims it's to meet his family, but I decide it may not be worth the risk.

I still dress extremely modestly here, but I notice many local women wearing jeans and tight-fitting tops. Someone reminds me that there is a significant Christian population in Syria. Oh, Christians: the hussies of the Muslim world.

I plunk down 25SYP for a mouthwatering shwarma while the cashier serenades my alleged beauty. He's single, he's single, the random onlooking men cry. I'm married, I say. But...he's single, they say, stumped.

Everyone falls in love with Syria. Travelers eagerly extend their visas and fantasize about renting flats. In Damascus, I run into a Pakistani couple I'd first met in Wadi Rum. Then they'd seemed jaded; after a few days in Syria, they are walking on air. The husband had previously told me Petra was the most amazing thing he'd ever seen, but now Serjilla tops the list.

The young juice seller in Hama keeps me company while I drink a delicious mixed cocktail and constantly asks me "Syria good?" He giggles frequently. Yes, Syria very good.

Saida Ruqqaya Mosque

As I get used to Syrian hospitality, I'm more easily talked into sitting down for chat (halting), drink (cola), and smoke (nargileh) with men on the street. In Aleppo, these men are in the tires, belts and bearings district. Bearings shop man has been rejected for a U.S. visa 9 times. His belt-shop friend jokes merrily that because bearings shop man's name is Mohammed, he's obviously a terrorist. Everyone finds this hilarious.

Few Syrians tell me they hate America. I was getting used to that being the knee-jerk response, but apparently Syrians do not hate America as much as Jordanians and Egyptians do. Innate kindness, I suppose. I am occasionally asked, with genuine concern, if there are good people in America. I respond positively, but don't expect they can be convinced.

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