On the road to Damascus, the piercing blue eyes of Syrian President Bashar Assad stare from kitschy signs everywhere: Mosaic Bashar with Roman ruins; Farmer Bashar with olives; Sporty Bashar suspended over a soccer stadium.

My two-week visit to Syria isn’t long enough for a place where history dates back almost 10,000 years while Westernizing reforms, like Dunkin’ Donuts, are increasingly common along the historic road where St. Paul had his blinding conversion.

In the capital’s partially walled Old City, one twisting street lined with half-timbered houses looks more central England than Middle East. Another road offers black-and-white stone dwellings with worm-worn arabesque doors of wood held together by rust-pitted bolts. Scattered Roman arches, remnants of grand buildings, delineate borders among the medieval Christian, Muslim and Jewish quarters.

And all roads lead to the Umayyad Mosque, a former Byzantine church built over a Roman temple. Talk about recycling.

I meet a friend, a local journalist who writes on culture and prefers to be known only as Mohammed. We remove our shoes at the mosque’s entry. The quiet intensity of the site strikes me.

“Sometimes I come to sit here in the courtyard and watch people when I need to think for a while,” says Mohammed. “It’s very peaceful. You don’t hear the Damascus traffic.”

Byzantine columns rise around us, supporting walls adorned with forests of gold and green mosaic palm fronds. I could lose my head pondering the serene beauty, but somebody may have beaten me to it. St. John the Baptist is supposedly entombed at Umayyad.

“Whether it’s really him or not, who knows for sure,” Mohammed says, adding that other shrines make the same claim.

Beyond the Old City, Damascus resembles a Soviet-inspired architectural wasteland, and this is where most locals live, work and play. One evening Mohammed takes me to the 24-hour Hijaz Cafe, a place popular with working-class men who play cards, smoke water pipes and drink tea while windows offer a view of a mosque under construction.

Another night, we head to the Algora Cafe, also open 24 hours, but as a chic, parallel world. Dark art adorns walls and moody lighting accents well-to-do young Damascene couples in designer clothes. The menu has an array of flavored coffees and espressos, which are served by uniformed waiters who practice their English.

Palmyra

The ancient city of Palmyra, 150 miles from Damascus, was the capital of an empire overseen by Queen Zenobia1,800 years ago. She challenged Rome, snatching Egypt from its clutches in A.D. 269. Rome got the upper hand in A.D. 274, parading Zenobia through the Eternal City in golden chains.

Today, Palmyra is Syria’s most important archaeological site, a sprawl of ruined honey-colored marble tombs, temples and arches, crisscrossed by colonnaded causeways once part of the ancient Silk Road from which the oasis city drew wealth.

A guide named Najib Mahmoud meets me at the Temple of Bel, which dates from A.D. 32. He tells me Queen Zenobia “represents nothing to contemporary women,” adding that “some people do call their daughters Zenobia. It’s a popular name here.”

Mahmoud notes that a house where archaeologists stay near the temple resembles one his grandparents lived in until 1929, when the French, who ruled Syria after the Ottoman Empire’s breakup, relocated the nearly 4,000 families living within the ruins. “They missed it every day,” he says.

As I wander around to take photographs, Mahmoud is the only other person across the expanse, more than a mile square, of Palmyra’s ruins. Later on, Australian and Spanish couples and a single Japanese tourist appear. Syrian tourism is so underdeveloped that I visited eight Damascus travel agencies before finding one offering tours. Ultimately, I hired a private driver and found Mahmoud.

Much archaeological work still needs to be done. I show Mahmoud a pristine Greek-lettered stone plaque jutting from the soil begging to be excavated.

“What can we do?” he says, moving to stone slabs with holes and declaring, “In old Palmyra, every 40 meters, a toilet for travelers.”

Coolly combining the ancient with the ultramodern, Lebanon is one of the most captivating countries in the Middle East. From the Phoenician findings of Tyre (Sour) and Roman Baalbek's tremendous temple to Beirut's BO18 and Bernard Khoury's modern movement, the span of Lebanon's history leaves many visitors spinning. Tripoli (Trablous) is considered to have the best souk in the country and is famous for its Mamluk architecture. It's well equipped with a taste of modernity as well; Jounieh, formerly a sleepy fishing village, is a town alive with nightclubs and glitz on summer weekends.

With all of the Middle East's best bits - warm and welcoming people, mind-blowing history and considerable culture, Lebanon is also the antithesis of many people's imaginings of the Middle East: mostly mountainous with skiing to boot, it's also laid-back, liberal and fun. While Beirut is fast becoming the region's party place, Lebanon is working hard to recapture its crown as the 'Paris of the Orient'.

The rejuvenation of the Beirut Central District is one of the largest, most ambitious urban redevelopment projects ever undertaken. Travellers will find the excitement surrounding this and other developments and designs palpable - and very infectious.

Finally, Lebanon's cuisine is considered the richest of the region. From hummus to hommard (lobster), you'll dine like a king. With legendary sights, hospitality, food and nightlife, what more could a traveller want?