We're just a few days away from the Muslim holy month of Ramadan -- and I'm already getting prepared.

All of the schedules change this time of year, and it's important to know the new office hours, bus routes and schedules, and which restaurants are serving food during daylight hours. I've already gotten ahead on many of my articles, because it's hard to get appointments during Ramadan.

The main thing I'm looking forward to is the great food and the period of empty streets right after sunset when everyone is busy breaking the fast.

People often ask me if it's hard to be an American or to be a woman in Syria.

But it's not those two obvious hurdles that makes life dificult here.

It's the little things that don't first come to mind that are the real obstacles.

It's trying not to faint in the 120 degree mid-day August heat while going from one appointment to the next, walking each time because I dislike haggling with taxi drivers.

It's trying to keep hydrated with a big bottle of water, and finding places to use the bathroom throughout Damascus.

It's waiting ages to get an email connection, and then losing the connection once I've written the message.

It's trying to cross the street while carrying a laptop, when traffic lights are seen as merely decorations in Damascus.

But with all of those little obstacles, it's also the bigger things I appreciate:

The great food, the hospitality, seeing Greek and Roman ruins in the middle of the big cities, juice bars on every corner... and photogenic people and landscapes that makes it almost impossible to take bad pictures.

Well, I'd better post this before I lose my connection.

A few days ago, after working late at night on articles in central Damascus, I got a taste of what poor people must go through every day.

I hailed a taxi. When the driver asked where I was going, I told him the name of my neighborhood, Dwaylaa. He shook his head, "No, not there."

This happened a couple of more times until I finally gave up and took two buses home.

I was way too tired to walk from one bus stop to the next.

But what was I supposed to do? Taxis won't go to my neighborhood late at night.

The other day, I was interviewing a professor at University of Damascus for an upcoming article.

In the course of our conversation, I asked him, "What's your opinion on the subject?"

He responded, "My opinion? My opinion? You want my opinion?" And he just started laughing.

I didn't know what to do, so I started laughing too.

He finally gave me a decent answer to my question.

There's a joke in Syria that goes something like this:

In the heat of the summer, a fan company wanted to know what people thought of their product. They asked Europeans, "What is your opinion of the new fans?" And the Europeans responded, "What fans? We have air conditioning." Then they asked Africans, who responded: What fans? We can't afford them. And then they asked the Syrians, "What's your opinion about the new fans?" And the Syrians responded, "Opinion? What does it mean to have an opinion?"

Opinion -- that's kind of a joke around here... dark humor, I guess.