As we drove through deserted highways leading from Lebanon to Syria in the middle of the night, fear and excitement filled our hearts. The high humidity made sitting in a tiny car crammed with our suitcases for the next 3.5 hours uncomfortable, but those things were easy to forget when all that ruled our minds is whether we were going to arrive safely.

With all the talk about Syria’s civil war of 5 years being huge news in America, thinking we were going to be staying in that troubled spot for a month frightened us. However, with reassurance from our family there that all is under control in Damascus for the time being, my mom, my brother, and I decided to go to Syria as soon as school ended– even though some of our American family and friends thought us crazy for doing so.

We had not seen my family in Syria in ages. My mom had not been to her childhood home or seen her family (except for her parents, who visited us in America six years ago) for nine years, and we did not want to risk going any longer without seeing them, especially given the country’s current condition and my grandparents’ growing age.

Our only choice had been to take a plane to Lebanon and then drive to Syria because all airlines from America directly to Syria are presently closed. For safety reasons, airlines are forbidding Americans from traveling to Syria because of their war.

Heading to Syria from Beirut, Lebanon with a driver we had never met before added on to our worries of something going wrong. After hearing more than enough rumors about ISIS, thievery and crimes occurring there, meeting the man who was going to be our chauffeur for the long ride to Syria was an undeniably awkward encounter since we were so wary about him.

He was my grandparents’ neighbors’ friend, a complete stranger to us, but also our only hope to reach Syria.

The thick tension in the car broke with some conversation and we eventually became comfortable with the driver and found him very friendly and helpful. We asked him about the government implemented checkpoints that are spread throughout all of Lebanon and Syria. These were the areas we were dreading most– and we knew we were going to pass by many of them on our drive.

The checkpoints are guarded by soldiers who rummage through every suitcase entering the country on the search for weapons that may be snuck in. We heard from people who went to Syria before us that the soldiers are not exactly welcoming or friendly. We held the impression that these men steal money or possessions and are extremely strict with passports and citizenships.

Since our chauffeur is very familiar with the route we were on and every checkpoint we were going to pass, he told us not to fret because he knew how to handle each one. However, I could not help but get nervous as we drove closer and closer to each checkpoint– not knowing who we were approaching, or what they were going to do.

Each checkpoint–little huts painted on all surfaces with the Syrian flag– was different and every soldier was unlike the next. At some stops, we had to get out of the car as they opened our suitcases and in others we stayed in the car and only showed them our passports. Some soldiers were cold and some cracked jokes with us. All were holding guns, but some were also eating sunflower seeds and smoking hookah as they worked checking the cars.

Sometimes, we were not checked in the stops because our chauffeur would hand the soldiers a pack of cigarettes or some money as a bribe. He laughed with and greeted them then continued driving. I remember my mom, brother, and I staring at each other with bewildered faces–we were surprised to see that he was good friends with many of these so-called evil men.

We began to get used to these checkpoints when we realized that none of the guards are really against us as travelers entering the country– they were only doing their job looking for those who are trying to bring in weapons in order to protect their homes.

I attempted taking a photo of the checkpoints, but was told to quickly put my phone away. Apparently, one time someone who took their phone out at a checkpoint had their phone confiscated and run over by the car they were in. Obviously, due to security reasons, it was not a good idea to have our phones out as we got closer to the stops, so I never took my phone out in a car again.

When we finally arrived we discovered that our family in Syria was right– all was under control in their home, Damascus, and we realized right away that news on Syria in America is overblown and sometimes incorrect. When we ask my family about certain bombings we heard occurred through the news here, they would say they didn’t know what we were talking about– that there was never a bombing.

The checkpoints are present inside of Damascus as well, which makes going places difficult as time spent on the road is much longer. Rides that once took 15 minutes now take 2 hours.

Traveling by car in Syria means enduring long waits at the checkpoints under the scorching sun. After experiencing sitting on burning leather seats for hours and dripping in sweat, I did not blame the people of Syria for wanting to stay home all day– going places is exhausting. Nothing is made easier when public transportation is scarce because of the high gas prices and taxis are costly for the same reason.

Despite all these things, being in Syria was truly an amazing time and worth each day we spent sweating in taxis. We hope to go back every summer possible and for the journey to be much easier next time– when Syria is finally at peace again.