A backpacking trip around Syria with young children may seem daunting but Esther Selsdon and family found a warm welcome in this ancient land

In a stone-vaulted souk in the shadow of the ancient citadel of Aleppo, five-year-old Edie was haggling for a bright red dress. Vigorously, she mimed the words: 'That's obviously a ridiculous price.' The trader smiled and agreed. 'You are', he said, 'welcome in my country.'

Our decision to take a family holiday in a country which is part of George Bush's supposed Axis of Evil had been prompted by a number of neatly colliding interests. We'd read about the ancient ruins of the cradle of western civilisation and birthplace of the Old Testament and we were keen to practise our painfully-acquired evening class Arabic on some real, live locals. But what Fergus, seven, and Edie really wanted was a journey on a 'sleepy train'.

While browsing a trainspotters' website one evening, I came across the Toros Express, a weekly rail service from Istanbul to Syria (and formerly the eastern extension of the Orient Express which ran all the way to Baghdad). The 'sleepy train' located, there was no holding us back.

The Toros Express runs every Thursday morning from Haydarpasa station in Istanbul to Aleppo, northern Syria's capital. We bought cheap air tickets to the Turkish capital and thought we'd work out the rest of our two-and-a-half week journey when we got there but, almost immediately, our plans hit a snag. There had been two train crashes in Turkey in the previous few weeks and now the very existence of the Toros Express, let alone its departure station, remained enigmatic. No one could tell us where to board the train.

An optimistic railway employee eventually sent us on a four-hour bus ride to a small town called Eskisehir. There were two stations in this rather grim town, and no one spoke English; but, at last, a taxi driver sped us to a bare concrete platform in the middle of a field and, miraculously, there we saw five clapped-out carriages coupled to a geriatric red engine. Two men sat in shorts, drinking tea.

'Toros Express?' we inquired. ' Guichet ?' Forget tickets, these railwaymen were simply amazed to see potential passengers. They ushered us towards the back of the train where a smiling man beckoned us on. This was Mr Ali, our Syrian guard, and, for the next 31 hours, we were to be not merely the most honoured but the sole occupants of his travelling Syrian hotel while Turkish marble was loaded on and off the rest of the train at various obscure locations.

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