In Syria, There’s No Such Thing as Car Years

On the potholed roads of Damascus, old cars never die, they just putter down to the auto parts scavengers of Al-Yaman Street.

There, auto parts dealer Mohammed Khadi has retired his gas-guzzling, road-hogging, canary-yellow 1958 Desoto Diplomat from three decades of taxi service, but he drives his beloved car to and from work every day.

Across the road, Louay Babbili tinkers with his hulking, forest-green 1952 Chevy Belair before he heads home.

Around the corner, Nouras Bashur explains the challenges of finding spare parts for his 1947 Buick Skylark--which he bought as the family car just last year.

This Middle Eastern nation is a motoring museum for classic American and European cars from the 1940s, ‘50s and ‘60s. It’s a place where tail fins and running boards have never gone out of style, and there’s nothing strange about a man driving a car that’s older than he is.

A random stroll through the narrow, winding lanes of this ancient city turned up several horse-drawn carts, a cream-colored Cadillac Fleetwood circa 1950, a shiny green Jaguar of the same vintage, and even a 1939 Willys Jeep that’s in daily use.

The owner of the Willys, Basil Barakdat, scoffed when a visitor suggested his car was a novelty. He claimed he’d seen cars years older rumbling down the road.

Syrians don’t all croon over old cars. Their driving habits have been shaped by President Hafez Assad’s state-dominated economy, which has made it outlandishly expensive to get a new, imported vehicle.

“We keep the old cars going with spare parts from all kinds of different cars,” said Khadi, 29, who runs one of the many cluttered auto parts shops on Al-Yaman Street, an oil-stained thoroughfare dedicated to keeping wheezing old cars alive.

Syria doesn’t make cars, and private buyers still face crippling duties of 200% to 300% on imported vehicles. A car that sells for $15,000 in the West can cost as much as $45,000 in Syria, a relatively poor country where you can’t get a car loan.

The motoring scene has improved some since Assad’s government began economic reforms in 1991. Now, businesses can import vehicles duty-free, although the tax remains for individuals.

Thousands of new, white Japanese minivans now ply the streets as taxis. They’re known as “mice” because of the way they dart around, and their presence amid the vintage cars helps shake the feeling that you’re on the set of a period movie.

Someday soon the minivans will outnumber the classic cars. One man who won’t be impressed is Anwar Nabelsi.

Nabelsi has one of the finest old cars in Damascus, a 1956 blue-and-white Mercedes convertible that has its original engine and a spotless, wood-paneled interior.

When the weather is warm, he takes down the top and cruises the streets in style. In the winter, he drives his backup car--an emerald-green 1978 Toyota Corona.

Old cars are so common that most have no value as collector’s items. They’re seen as lumbering commuter cars whose spare parts have to be scavenged from junkyards or handcrafted by the inventive mechanics on Al-Yaman Street. Though many are in excellent condition, most sell for only a few thousand dollars.

Elias Nonee, 52, said that for 25 years he was angling to make a tidy sum by selling his cream-and-gold 1939 Plymouth to an appreciative buyer.

Western tourists fueled his fantasy by frequently stopping to take pictures and gushing over his car. He believed them. But to fellow Syrians, it was just plain old.

Last year he finally sold it for less than $7,000. Then he bought a “new” car that he expects to last the rest of his days--a 1963 Peugeot.