October 20th 2009: First prison in Lattakia:

When I leave the office from the commanding officer, my bicycle and my luggage are already in the old Peugeot. I sit at the back, three guardians are coming as well. The car is well packed, but Lattakia is only 30km away.

We are heading back North to where I left this morning. When we pass the missile site, I have a very attentive look at it once more: Nothing, but absolutely nothing indicates that this is a military site. Except the two missiles of course. (Back home, I searched the net, and by know exactly what kind of missiles they are. I also know the exact emplacement of them, but I will not tell it here. I will publish a book of the whole story later on, and than I will give all details with photos as well.)

Meantime we entered Lattakia. I try to memorize where we are going, but we are turning around for a while and soon I am lost. I will not find this Prison anymore.

Finally we enter a blind alley. The Peugeot stops in front of a big iron gate. Two armed guards in civil clothes open, and I enter my first jail. I am directed into  a cell, together with my bicycle and all my luggage. The door is not locked up, but instead a guard is posted in front of it. Inside the cell there is just a bench made of iron and wood. That is all. No bed, no sanitary installation. My cell phone is confiscated.

Now , there are many more details to tell, one of the crucial for me, which I will not tell here, but everything will be in my book later on.

Nobody speeks English, or at least want to speak it.

I ask for an interpreter: NO!

I also ask several times to pass a phone call to my family: NO!

I try to communicate as well as I can with my little Arab knowledge. It works, but in one direction only: While they understand quite easily what I want to say, on the other side I cannot understand their sayings, my Arab knowledge is not good enough to understand the Syrian language.

Meantime, my guardian got bored, and I am more and more alone in my cell, the door is still open. So I risk a look outside from time to time. On one of these occasions I can see the policemen bringing in another prisonner. He is blinded, handcuffed in the back, and bare-footed. This is no good sign at all! Where am I? Nobody wears an uniform!

Everytime when somebody looks into my cell, I ask when I can leave? First I get no answer at all. Later I am told that I will spend the night here. Later again a guardian tells me that I will leave tonight. “When?” “In one hour”  This “In hour hour” goes on or hours and hours. Meantime it is dark outside.  I do not believe anymore that they will release me today. So I open one of my bags and take some warm clothes. I put them on and then I lay down on the floor in one corner of my cell, and prepare myself to spend my first night in a Syrian prison.