In this scene alone, you can see seven photos of President Assad (now deceased). What that probably means is that this place was run by subversive malcontents; a true Syrian patriot would have put up at least ten times that many.

Actually the man we're sitting here with was incredibly nice. He runs a great falafel shop - maybe the best there is, and I don't mean just in Aleppo - in the center of town, near the Baron Hotel). When he found out we'd come from the USA, he had his son go get us some chairs and a gas heater (the brown thing in front of Sonja) so we could sit down and eat rather than huddling at the counter. He didn't speak a word of English (not many people in Syria do) and my Arabic was pretty weak at that point (still is, after two more years of classes) but we managed to make pleasant small talk with a generous helping of smiles, gestures, and napkin illustrations. When we'd finished our dinner, he sent someone to a shop across the street to bring us dessert, and after that, coffee - all at no charge, of course. Each time we came back (the falafel was too good not to) we received the royal treatment again.