I just finished reading this delightful book for the umptheenth time and was mulling over how sad it is. Not the content, which is whimisical and charming but the description of a time long gone. 1930’s
Inside there is a map of places described in the book and, using her spelling she describes travelling from Beyrout via places like Homs and Palmyra and Alep to where they worked at Jerablus, Raqqa, Chagar Bazer Nisibin, Hasetshe Tel Brak. She never mentions any borders but this along border of Turkey and Syria very near Iraq. she describes it like a drive in the country, ok desert country with flooded wadis, but still a very peaceful place.
Their workman are a mixture of Arabs, Kurds. Beduin. Armenian, Yezidis and even men from across the Turkish border (her spellings). They all work together and get paid the same.
It is so sad reading all these names realising this exactly where the Syrian war is currently going on. And the descendants of all those workmen no longer work together but are trying to kill each other