Egypt, Day 1: Arrival Adventures

I walked out of my final final at noon today, feeling much lighter since all that knowledge had fled my head. I had four hours to get all my things together.

First, I went to pick up my driving stipend, and then to purchase a scarf and under-scarf  that I matched to go with my jelbab. I had been wearing the jelbab all day without a hijab which attracted quite a bit of attention; one of my classmates Jordanian friends approached and wanted to know why. I could hear her laughing about it with her friends as I left.

I then made a quick trip home to finish packing, write my curriculum vitae to a professor for a recommendation letter, and buy batteries. I arrived at the 7^th Circle to wait for Becky so we could share a cab to the  airport together. I sat, waiting; soon, I was approached by a young woman, who asked me in Arabic if I was waiting for the bus. For the next 20 minutes we had a conversation in Arabic and English, establishing both of our life stories. I thought little of it and then went off with my friend and another CIEE student who had showed up looking for the airport bus. We shared a 10JD ride to the airport and went to look for where to go through customs. My flight, however, was with a different airline, and we were soon split off. I then spent a good fifteen minutes looking for another terminal and learning the Arabic words for terminal, departure, and arrival. Good to know.

Without problems, I handed in my passport and sent my baggage through the scan. This, however, is when my problems began. Now, it’s not a crazy airport like O’Hare, Dulles, or even Dayton…..the terminal was more like a gian warehouse; few people milled around and there was no wait for the security line. I didn’t even have to remove my shoes. My bag, however, was taken aside for a security check. Great, I remembered. I didn’t remove my baggie of liquids.

However, they didn’t care about the liquids. The man spoke no English – not that he should, of course, considering that this is Jordan and not America. However, shall we just say that several personal items were confiscated along with my camera batteries, and that it required an extra security guard and a random German tourist to get things straightened out? Shall we also just say that the words that you need in situations such as these are not ones that are likely to be taught in a class - ever? And shall we finally conclude this discussion with the caveat that a bilingual dictionary is essential if one is not perfectly fluent in the language? Yes. Yes, we shall.

Feeling somewhat frazzled after that ordeal, I wandered over to the check in counter and received my ticket. I then spent another eternity (okay, two minutes of confusion) looking for where to exit towards the upper storey. Finally, a security guard took pity on my plighted state and motioned me towards the “Immigration” station. I present my paperwork and walked through.

Upstairs, I spent my time looking through the duty-free shop and buying a reasonably priced drink and croissant. I peeked my head into a bar and coffee lounge and found a group of my program’s students.

“Hey, guys, how are you?” I walked up to them cheerfully.

Blank stares of confusion met me. I guess they hadn’t seen me in jilbab before.

Finally one of the girls recognized me. We established some of us might be on the same flight, but that they had a connecting flight in Cairo, where I would stop. I went on to wait for the flight, but did not wait long; soon, the gate attendant began calling out “Al-Qahiro, Al-Qahiro. Cairo, Cairo.” Surprised at the early time, I presented my papers and passed through. Then came another scanning station, where the men and women were separated to get a brief patdown. I was ushered into another waiting room, finding myself to be one, the only female and two, the only Westerner, and three, the only Western female, in a room full of working-class Egyptian men returning home. They paid me little enough mind, however, and went about their business of performing prayers, talking and arguing loudly, and stretching their arms across the chairs.

The flight was uneventful – and then I found myself in Cairo late at night and alone. I easily disembarked and purchased my visa. I arrived in the enormous main Cairo terminal and went through customs. I settled myself in the waiting area to wait for Becky who had gotten in on antoher flight before me. We had made arrangements that she would meet me at my terminal. I waited. And waited. I saw that my terminal only had EgyptAir flights and I knew she was on Royal Jordanian. Finally, I approached the information desk. First question, as always, is “Do you speak English?” He did, and informed me that her flight would be in terminal one, floor three and pointed me in the direction of a bus to take me there.

I got on the bus and drove towards terminal 1. The bus stopped in a decidedly non-terminal looking location and all the passengers got off. I approached the bus driver and asked in Arabic, “Excuse me, terminal 1? This bus?”

“Eh?”

“Terminal 1?” I was a little unsure of my pronounciation, since I’d never heard the word pronounced. I held up my finger. “One?”

He got the idea. “That bus, that bus,” he pointed in front. I thanked him and got onto the second crowded bus. It left the station and started heading out on a road. For a moment, I was decidedly nervous that the bus was heading into downtown Cairo towards a hotel or something and that my brief Arabic question to the bus driver had been sadly misconstrued. Soon, however, reason got the better of me. There is no way an airport would be furnishing a bus like this for free to a hotel downtown in Cairo; and there is no way there would be no place for baggage on a hotel bus. So I settled in to enjoy the ride.

We finally arrived at terminal one, and I dashed off to circle about the terminal. By now, nearly thirty extra minutes had passed and I feared I had missed my friend. Quickly, I ran outside and caught the next bus back to my terminal. It was the same bus driver as before.

“Terminal 1?” He asked.

“Yes.” I said. “I mean, no. This is terminal one.”

“What do you want?”

“Terminal 3. I want terminal 3.”

He looked at me skeptically, but motioned for me to enter the bus.

Arriving again at the terminal 3, I allowed the other passengers to exit before me. I had jost gotten off, when I realized the bus driver had followed me.

He smiled. “You speak Arabic?”

“A little.” I said. “I’m a student from Jordan.”

“Jordan? Ah. Welcome to Egypt. Islamti?” He motioned to the hijab.

“No, I’m a Christian. But it’s better this way.” I replied.

He smiled. “Ah. Beautiful, it’s very beautiful. Welcome to Egypt!”

I thanked him. Turning, I saw Becky and eagerly ran towards her as an island of welcoming English-speakingness and familiarity in a sea of  uncertainty and Arabic. We quickly rehashed the last two hours of searching for each other and finally decided that we would get a taxi from that location.

The taxi-touts had been eyeing us in our conversation.

“You need a taxi?” One approached.

“Yes.” I let Becky do the talking.

We established where; he was asking for much more, but one of Becky’s Egyptian contacts had assured us that the ride should be no more that 50LE (Egyptian Lira, or pounds). He finally came down to our price when Becky put on her sad face and pitifully said please.

The taxi took us to the island of Zamalek, where our hotel was located. He stopped twice to ask for directions to our hotel. This, we decided, was probably not the best sign.

We arrived without problem, however, and went to check in. They had our names from the online reservation we had made but then insisted that we had to pay. Becky had made the reservations, but used her credit card; we were certain that we had already paid. Finally, the night clerk told us to go to our room and we could talk to the manager in the morning. (He really reminded me of my cousin, L.) We got onto the mirrored elevator that smelled of sweat and pungent men’s cologne. Our room was guarded by a door that was nearly impossible to open – it took the two of us, one pulling on the giant round knob in the middle, the other turning the key and throwing her body weight against the door as hard as possible. We put our things away, had a quick glimpse of the Nile from our small balcony, and decided to go back downstairs since the promised wi-fi didn’t exist in our bedroom. We went out to find the balcony; instead, we found a dark half-constructed room filled with toilets huddled around a center post. 

We then went downstairs and had an interesting evening watching the people going up to the roof restaurant and bar. We decided we would not be two of them. Even if we could have found it.

Tired, we eventually returned to our room, eagerly awaiting the following day: the Pyramids!

Midterms

This morning started with my hand-washing my clothing from last weekend in the shower with me, since it needed to be done by hand and I wouldn't have time otherwise.

Then came my Ammiyya midterm exam. It was only ten questions. Three hours of a break, and then my archeology midterm. This was only 25 questions.  Two hours, and then my Modern History of Jordan midterm. This one came in at only three questions. However, at the end of the day, my hand was cramped from writing so much. For the history exam alone, I filled up three computer pages front and back.

Now back home to take an exam and write two papers for my online class from Cedarville. Tonight I also have to study for my FusHa midterm tomorrow. And take care of all the final details for spring break.

On the way to the history class, though, a funny thing happened. I had arrived early enough to want to study outside. Just as I arrived at the building, I saw a bench sitting out front. There have been a distinct lack of benches around the vicinity, so I rejoiced that the University had responded to the need. I had just settled myself on the bench, when I heard a man sharply clapping beside me. I looked up and realized that the group of men I though I had beaten out for access to the bench were actually waiting there to move the bench. I jumped up to move. They laughed at me. The end.

Pictures 3.20-3.26

Here is the link from pictures of last week!

(Right now it's unedited - sideways views! - but they're up there). We went to Wadi Rum last weekend. And, I even managed to include some people in these pictures.

I have about a week's worth of posts I need to finish...but right now, I'm in the midst of midterms and then comes Spring Break and a little jaunt to Egypt.

So, these pictures might be all you have to enjoy of my posts from Jordan for another week or two. Enjoy!

Pictures 3.13-3.19

Here is the link to a disparate group of pictures: from Umm al Jimaal, to the University, to food.

I already posted the link once, because I went back and edited my post from Saturday, and I'll post links to more pictures in my next few posts as I describe a typical day, so you can see what normal life looks like for me over here!

Epic Discovery

You know the discoveries of Petra, Tutankhamun, the structure of DNA? Minor revelation. Discoveries of the wheel, indoor plumbing, and sliced bread? Mere innovations.

Today I found a bus that goes from Raghadan bus station to within walking distance to my house.

This, my friends, is a breakthrough.

My 'Hood

Here is a link to pictures from my area - what I see on the way to school, my room, and some sights around the area. I have pictures from the University of Jordan that I'll be adding soon, Lord willing, to show you a typical day. :-) Hey, it's not all ruined cities and adventurous adventures, you know. A girl's gotta study sometime!

Perfection

Dear friends,

Just wanted to let you know, today the weather is perfect in Amman. It as absolutely perfect. It could not be any better: neither warm nor cool, but entirely pleasant with little breaths of breeze puffing up now and then to stir the leaves. The birds are singing.

Enjoy the rest of March. ;-P

Mother of camels

This was my destination for the day: Umm al Jamaal. It is this immense and very ruined city made of black basalt: it looks exactly as though the entire town had been bombed and burned out. It was eerily still and uncannily situated among barren that looked like Martian terrain. I didn't really get any good pictures, unfortunately, so I will just leave you to imagine the ruined black city among the desolate red hills.
EDIT: Here are the pictures I do have of the city and the surroundings, but none, like I said, where you see both the black city and the red hills.

Getting there and back was quite the adventure though: I left the house at 9 and took a taxi to Raghadan bus station. From Raghadan bus station, I took the bus to Zarga, then from Zarga onto Mafraq and from Mafraq onto Umm al Jimaal, arriving around 1pm. It's not that the actual driving time was so long (perhaps 2 hours in all): the rest of the time was waiting for the busses to fill up! At the same time, I marveled that the busses (particularly this immense, old tour bus that went from Zarga to Mafraq) ever did fill up. I could not help but wonder where all theses people were going and why. Had they been in between the various towns visiting family? Working? Shopping? The scenery on the trip was not too spectacular; but I definitely saw lots of signs for the Syria (only 10km!) and Iraqi borders. I also saw lots of Bedouins, many goats, and a few camels! (Though no camels at "Um al Jimaal," sad to say. They were on the road from Mafraq to Zarga.) And next weekend I'll be seeing even more camels - off to Wadi Rum!

When you least expect it....

....your man-repellent runs out.

Today was supposed to be a study day. Nothing else. Go to the study center near the program office and work on some papers. I had been told yesterday that the center was open from 10am - 5pm.

It was not.

So, sitting in the dark space between the elevator and the metal rolling doors blocking the center, I tried to mooch their internet.....of course, their server was turned off.

Downstairs I went to the coffee shop and got 2 hours of internet access for a 2.50 cappuccino. When they turned off the access, I headed back up to check if the center was open. Nope, still closed.

Deciding I could do without internet, I went to the the top floor, looking for a place to sit in the hallway. I saw the stairs leading up one more floor - roof access! I thought. I ventured up the stairs, intending to enjoy the perfect weather as I worked. However, I discovered a small room off to one side: prayer rugs were all over the floor in front, and I could hear the television quietly chattering behind the drawn metal wall. Going back down to the top business floor, I settled myself on the ground and began to type.

A few moments passed before I realized that the building was not as dead as I had anticipated it to be on a Friday morning. The elevator went up and down a few times; I heard doors slam. A few minutes more into my work and the elevator came up to the top level. This I had not expected, since all of the businesses on the floor were closed. Out stepped a man with a bag in his hand and made his way to the living space above.

I worked a while longer; one or two times the elevator arrived and delivered men who went upstairs. I paid no heed until a young man standing in front of me. He was holding a cookie and a black glass mug. I looked up hesitantly. He put the mug beside me and placed the cookie on one of my books. He smiled, motioned toward them, said "Faddali," (Please, go ahead) and walked upstairs.

I was a little bit confused. Okay, no. I was a lot bit confused. What are the social rules for when a man appears out of no where and gives you a giant cookie and a mug of fresh-pureed strawberry juice? Why had he done it? What would it mean if I ate it? What would it mean if I grabbed my things and ran away screaming?

I decided it would be rude not to eat it. So, dutifully and slowly, I ate the delicious cookie, waiting to slip into drugged consciousness at any time. It was a very good cookie. Very good. I decided it probably wasn't poisoned, and started in on the amazingly delicious fresh strawberry juice. About halfway through the young man appeared again. He smiled at me. "Do you speak Arabic?" He didn't speak English.

"A little."

"Are you studying Arabic here?...." he continued. He motioned down the hall.

"Through CIEE. Yes."

"I'm Kareem. What's your name?"

I replied. He smiled. "Are you from America?"

"Yes."

"I'm from Egypt."

I grinned. "Really? My fiance is in Egypt." I pointed to my ring.

"Really? Where?"

"In Alexandria."

"Ah! I'm from," he mentioned the name of a small town that is apparently near Alexandria.

"Cool." I motioned to the mug. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Welcome to Jordan."

"Nice to meet you."

He disappeared into a door further down the hallway. I stayed just long enough to finish the juice and look like I wasn't rudely escaping. I wrote a quick thank you note and stuck it under the mug, leaving it behind me, as I left, still vastly confused as to whether the encounter fell under the normal, friendly, or just plain creepy label.

My next adventure started with my cab ride to the mall. Now, I have never really had a chatty cab driver. Ever. But then, when one's supply of man-repellent pheromone runs out, it runs out good.

First he asked me if I spoke Arabic. The only proper answer to this is, of course, "Shway," a little. He laughed. "Same as me. I speak English - a little." I nodded and looked out the window.

He asked me if I was a student. Yes, I was. He informed me I was his first fare for the day, so he didn't have any change for me, so if I needed change, we would stop. I told him I had some small bills. He asked where I was from. I answered. He commented on the traffic and said we would be taking a different route. I agreed that the traffic was bad and then kept an eagle eye out to make sure that the different route was going where I wanted. He commented on the weather. I agreed that it was a lovely day. He asked me what "Rabeeyah," meant.

"This time, rabeeyah, in English?"

"Spring. Rabeeyah, the season, we call 'spring.'"

He either didn't hear me or didn't believe me. "Look, look, here," he swerved to the side of the road to point to a patch of grass. "That. What is it?"

"Grass?"

"There!" He pointed out.

"Hasheesh. Grass."

He started laughing. "You speak Arabic good! Hasheesh!"

I could've sworn my professor told us "hasheesh" meant regular grass and not just the kind you smoke.

"Look, the green stuff, hasheesh. We call it grass in English," I replied in Arabic. I did *not* want him thinking I was one of those Americans who actually smoked the stuff.

"No, no, no!" He replied in English. "These three months! Rabeyah!"

"Spring!" I said loudly, for the third time. "Rabeyah we call 'spring' in English."

"Sing?"

"Spring!"

"Ah, okay, very good. Spring! Very good weather in spring."

Fortunately, we arrived at the mall before starting in on what the other seasons might be. He asked me if I wanted him to wait for me. Oh, no, I assured him. I would be in there for a long time. A very long time.

Sehnsucht

The question of, "Are you homesick?" often arises and sometimes, I rather feel guilty in answering it.

No, no, I'm not homesick. Not exactly.

 I've been at college for three years. With working during the summers, I really only see my family at Christmas. Among home, college and summer work, I've moved 8 times in the last three years and have not been in any place longer than about four months.

My resemblance to a rolling stone, then, gets at the heart of what I feel here: sehnsucht. Oh, not the intense longing for home or the familiar that  can never be attained that the word sometimes means. It's the sehnsucht that Lewis talked about in his work on Joy. It's the feeling of not belonging in this world, of knowing that there must be more. It is the longing for an eternal home; the desire for an eternal belonging.

I don't belong here, as much as I might enjoy it here - I am an alien and a stranger in a strange land. The language isn't mine, the customs aren't mine, and the land isn't mine. Just the same, these small feelings only swerve to magnify the overall feeling of desire for an everlasting home that is mine; a place where I shall know even as I am known. While that desire exists at all times, it's must easier to cover it up, hide it, and stuff it into the corners of my mind when I have my home and family around me.

So, no, I'm not home sick; I'm Home sick.

These are a few of my favorite things.....

....so, speaking of things from the States that I miss while here, I need to balance it out with a list of the many things that I love about Jordan and that I will miss at home.

1. The people
     Everyone has been very friendly and helpful; I have not yet had an actual bad experience. For example, tonight I was in another bus, trying to peer ahead to see if we were en route to my destination. The girls behind me asked me if I needed any help, did I know where I was going, and explained where the driver was going and how to get where I wanted.
2. Public transportation
    Okay, I'll admit it, taxis and buses are a mixed bag - lots of adventurous fun, but then also lots of frustration (do the microbuses seriously have to have their destinations in scribbly calligraphy?). Still, I'm kinda getting accustomed to being chauffeured around. It's nice to know that wherever I go, I can easily get to any other place at the hail of a cab.
3. Driving
    No, I don't do any driving here, but the traffic is just crazy enough to be interesting. It's not insane, but it is interesting.
4. Little shop of wonders
    I can walk ten minutes in any direction and find a supermarket or a pharmacy where I can get just about anything my little heart desires. I love walking along rows of shops and seeing all the goods they contain; it's so much more fun than WalMart! I love seeing capitalism and entrepreneurship in action. (Although, I must admit, I don't know the business and tax laws here to know how much the shops might be underwritten by the government? Hmmmm.)
5. The general shopping experience
    You step into this one room store, and there are immediately five men at your service wanting to sell you things. You walk by a store and the owner is lounging beside the door, saying "Welcome, welcome, please, come in." Yes, it's intimidating - I just want to browse by myself, thank you! - but also strangely fun.
6. Food
    Babaghanoush. Oh, mylanta. Bread a-plenty. Arab sweets. Falafel and hummus and tea biscuits. Pomelo, pomegranates, kaki, dates, and figs galore. And *mango juice*!!
7. Nescafe
    I really should dedicate a whole post to this wonder. But it's coffee that has a bucket load of sugar and milk in it and that is sold from little stands that are - I am not exaggerating - everywhere. Okay, if not everywhere, then pretty much every 25 feet or so.
8. Adventures
    The downtown market. The ruins. The staring village kids. The shebaab. Can I, in the States, go climb to the top of a centuries old Temple of Zeus? Um, no.
9. The scenery
    Mountains, wadis, deserts, skyscrapers, villages......Jordan has it all. It is so beautiful here - and right now, the weather couldn't be better.
10. Arabic
     I really enjoy the language. It will be strange not being surrounded by signs that I can't really read and that I try my best to haltingly pronounce.
11. The culture
      Not that everything here is absolutely wonderful (because being of course a human society, it isn't), but there are many things about the culture here that I will miss. I will miss not having my eyes assaulted by people trying to squeeze themselves into outfits that no one really should have every designed in the first place. I will miss not having my ears bombarded with vulgarities (well, at least ones I can understand!), loud music, and crude conversations (again, at least those I can understand!). I will miss the cash-based system and the personal interactions with the store owners and taxi drivers. I will miss the experience of having to ask for help so frequently and yet know that anyone I do ask will (probably) be very willing to do whatever they can to render assistance.
12. Gas stove.
     Wow. It gets things hot, fast.

Habeeby!

"Habeeby" (my love, my close friend, my dear) is probably one of the most common words here besides the indispensable vocabulary of yalla, yaani, and khallas (come on, I mean, and enough). Seriously. You can have extensive conversations with just these words and some body language. 

And right now one of the things I'm missing most is my habeeb - Eric Paul. Oh, how I miss the welcoming embrace! The long evenings spent together, poring over books and pondering the universe. I miss the quiet and peace we had together, the special bond forged through three years of togetherness through many trying situations.

In other words, I miss my school library and my dorm study lounge.

Um, yes. I *did* name the library. Aaaaand my dorm study room. Well, it was either that or answer the eternal question "What are you doing this weekend" with "Studying." Saying, "I'm spending my weekend with Paul" sounds much more fun. 

At any rate, I just wish I had a good place to go that was ergonomically designed for studying and spreading out books. You see, I am a book spreader. I need my materials in a semi-circle around me for maximum studying effect. 

Thinking of Eric (the library) Paul (the study lounge) only reminds me of some other things I routinely miss. Don't get me wrong - being here is awesome, but like anything, it requires some trade-offs. So, here they are:

1. Book of Common Prayer

     I am accustomed to using this every day from my iPhone. I don't have a solid copy; and although I could look it up online, it's really hard to kneel while fumbling with my computer. 

2. Caffeine

         I am used to my 32 ounces of black coffee every morning. Now, I have developed a body clock. This is great, except now midterms are coming up and I have several additional papers to write. And I can't make myself stay up past midnight.

3. Toilet paper

        Many bathrooms are BYOTP (Bring your own TP). 

4. Regular internet access

      My host family has *amazing* internet access. But still, I do miss going to the library and being able to get my research done without having to wait a long time for a single page to load or having the high risk of the email I just spent an hour composing being deleted because of a server error. Not that that's happened, of course. Purely hypothetical.

5. Study space

     Previously mentioned

6. Gum

     It exists here, but it's expensive. A pack of 5 pieces costs 0.35 JD

7. Gym

     Again, I could join a ladies gym (and many of the students have), but I just didn't want to fork over the 75JD/month for the really nice one. I get a lot of walking/hiking in, but no running or weights.

8. Excess water

    One of the first things I'm doing when I get back? Long, long, hot shower. I'm not coming out until my skin is the consistency of a prune and I am the color of a lobster. 

9. Printer access

    There is, technically, a way to print pages at UJ.....I just don't know about it. To print stuff, you have to go to one of the ubiquitous print shops around the University and hand them your jump drive and navigate the process of "Which document do you want to print?" "On both sides?" "How many copies?" "How much does it cost?" Since my Arabic is limited, and I haven't found a print shop where they speak good English......let's just say that deforestation certainly isn't happening on my account.

10. Libraries

      So, when I ask about a library where I can check out children's books (to help with my reading), I am continually sent to bookshops. Yes, actual libraries do exist - the UJ one and two downtown, but they aren't exactly what I picture a library to be. And then there's the matter of the bureaucratic challenge of actually checking out a book (not to mention the matter of transportation there and back!). It's just easier to buy. 

11. Vegetables

      The food here *is* excellent...but there is a distinct lack of abundant salad. Lots of bread, hummus, and falafal, but much less large lettuce-y salads and cheese.

12. Driving

      I miss actually driving. I find it relaxing to hit the open road, gently bring it up to 90 mph or so and just set it on cruise. Okay, okay. 70 mph. ;-)

Jerash

Not much to report about the day at Jerash, although it was enjoyable.

A quick taxi to Tabarbour and from there a microbus to Jerash. It was in some ways nice going to a place that is well known to tourists; I was assumed to not know any Arabic. The taxi driver, as soon as I said “Tabarbour Bus station” asked if I was going to Jerash. Upon arriving at the bus station, he and another bus attendant pointed out which bus I should get on. The taxi driver then told the attendant that I didn’t know Arabic (in Arabic). I didn’t disagree.

Most of the people on the bus were Jordanian, although there was a French couple of the backpack tourist type. They were, um, very affectionate between themselves.

Upon arriving in Jerash, my first task was to break my 50JD bill. I wandered down to the modern town where I paused to climb over the remains of the Roman baths where a man was also using them as a private refuge to talk on his cell phone. In the Friday market, I got my change from a Western Union and wandered around a bit to find a supermarket store to buy some lunch. I just love all the little shops! I successfully purchased some pre-packaged figs and was on my way back to the ruins.

I spent the day wandering all over, climbing and taking more pictures than absolutely necessary while creating fantastic story lines.

For lunch, I paused to eat my figs in the theatre, feeling rather Roman-esque. They were, without a doubt, the worst figs I have ever eaten. They were dry and hard and not succulent. I prerservered my way through them, figuring I needed to at least eat something. Then, I had a bite of sweetness. Hmm. I noticed the remaining part was darker than the rest. I took another bit; yep, it was sweet. I went looking for the dark ones. I stopped when I noticed that my fingers were covered in a black fungus…..from the sweeter dates that I had been eating. Still hungry, I decided to try just a few more of the non-sweet but fungus free dates. I finally gave up when I saw the long black hair that had been packaged in with them.

More walking, climbing, and exploring. I made it to the “Three Churches” that are  a bit off the beaten path. There was a herd of goats grazing in the church. I passed the young boy shepherds who were tending them. “Money?” they greeted me. I suppose it was the only Enlgish they knew. Either that or they thought it was a common American nickname.

I laughed at them and told them (in Arabic), “Money? What? What do you want – you have to be kidding. I’m a student, always broke. I don’t have any money.”  I think it was the longest speech in Arabic I’ve made yet.

More wandering about, and then finally back to the Hippodrome, where I saw the Roman soldiers escaping. (There is a show put on every day.)

Back on a bus to Tababor. When we got there, the taxi drivers standing around said there were no serviis to Raghadan. The French canoodling couple was there and asked if I wanted to share a taxi – they were going to the Balad. There was some confusion, and I ended up in a cab myself. The driver wanted four, then three JD to take me home, no meter. I told him, no, it was 2.50 always (which is more than fare – I had a metered ride that morning with no traffic that was 2.50 exactly). He agreed and I came home.

Pictures 3/6 - 3/12

This week's pictures are here.

I had planned to make it to both Jerash and Ajloun; but the weather was nasty yesterday, and so I only made it to Jerash today for a lovely little outing.

More details to follow.

Adventurous day, part 2

Since I would be going home along and since it was the coldest and mushiest day of the year, I decided it was the perfect time to try the public bus system again. This time, however, I asked one of the program interns which bus I might be able to get – and, alhamdulellah, there is one that goes relatively close to my neighborhood!

I approached a large city bus and asked the controller if it was going to Fifth Circle, because there was no destination display on the screen or in the window. He said yes it was, and the price was 40 piasters. (So cheap! I rejoiced.)

I hopped aboard and away we went. However, not knowing the final destination of the bus put me at a slight disadvantage. The bus soon was on a main road I had never seen before. I sat in rapt attention, trying to see through the fogged windows and attempting to recognize any of my surroundings. At last we arrived at the Fifth Circle. Two problems arose now, however. First, this was a different style of bus and I didn’t know how to signal that I wanted off. Secondly, as we approached the circle, I didn’t know which way it would go; it was a fifty percent chance that it would go closer to my neighborhood and a fifty percent chance that it would head away from my neighborhood.

It went away from my neighborhood.

That’s okay. I told myself. You can always get a taxi or another bus later. Besides, it’s probably returning to a bus station. Just accept the adventure lying before you.

I stayed on the bus as it passed a minor bus station, Al-Muhajareen. Having a better idea of where I was, I decided to stay on the bus; I figured it would be going on to the main bus station of Raghadan where I had been before.

It didn’t however, seem to be going to Raghadan. It approached a crowded area full of vendors and people that looked like Downtown but that wasn’t Downtown. When most of the people got off, I decided I might as well join the crowd.

Crossing the road, I set about the business of finding another bus that might be heading towards Fifth Circle….but my attention was drawn by the many vendors and the narrow alleys filled with open shops and covered with tarps from the rain. I wandered down the corridor, looking at the shops. My eye was caught by the many dress shops filled with the conservative dresses that I have seen everywhere but never seen sold. Aha! I thought. I must be in Jabal Hussein where the conservative dress market is, which is near Jabal Amman, which would make sense if the bus were actually going to Raghadan, I reasoned carefully. I also vowed never to set out from home without my map again.

I paused by one of the dress shops to look at one of the dresses. Immediately three or four of the shop owners came over. I asked if this was Jabal Hussein. They looked at me as though I were crazy. We established that we were not at Jabal Hussein but at Wihadet. So the bus was on its way to Wihadet, the South Bus Station!

I looked at the dresses. They invited me into the shop to look more. I decided that even if it was Jabal Hussein, I might as well take advantage of the opportunity to experience dress-shopping for a traditional dress in Amman.

Unfortunately, my Arabic vocabulary does not extend to such necessary dress-buying words such as “style,” “try on” “fancy,” “plain,” or “fabric.” I can say really important sentences such as “I do not want to car-bomb the ambassador” (ana ma biddy fakhakha alsafeer) and “Your mustache is ugly and unnecessary,” (shaaribak bishya wa mish darooree) but I can’t say, “I want a plain dress” or “Can I see another style?”

This provided a slight challenge for the salesman. I pointed to a dress or two, and he took me upstairs and pulled out similar styles. Back and forth we went, him trying to say something and then my trying to say something. We established I wanted something in blue, and that was about it. He resorted to his store of English words of “model” and “different” and I managed to try on two styles. The second fit and thus it is that I am the new owner of elastic-waist dress pants and a long blue manteau coat complete with detachable hood that has fake fur lining and ties that look like rabbit feet.

As I said, I love blending in.

Adventurous day

What an adventurous day! Truly, I felt a bit like a knight of old, not knowing what God may set before me today.

It began with uncertainty about the weather. Yesterday, there was talk all over campus, the weather stations, Amman, and Jordan in general that there would be snow the following day. We students received an email from our program stating that if there was snow, we would get an email at 7:30 in the morning informing us that we had a snow day, something we never thought would happen in Jordan.

Well, it didn’t. 7:30 came – bitter cold and grey, but no snow, no email, and no three day weekend. Tightly I wrapped my scarf about my head, donned my gloves and coat and braved the cold. This was not what I bargained for in leaving the Midwest for the Mideast.

Our teacher had no more blown into the room than we looked outside – only to see a blizzard. That’s right, folks. It was snowing heavily today in Amman, Jordan; apparently, the second snow of the year. Did we get a snow day? No. Did we get to go outside and marvel at this wonderous thing? No. Did we have class with the curtains pulled shut so we students would not be distracted? You betcha. It snowed for three hours and finally turned into a nasty cold rain after class.

Following class, I ducked into the University’s cafeteria to wait for lunch – mansaf! Our program’s Culture Club had put together a day where the students could “help” make Jordan’s national dish.

We were ushered into the cafeteria’s kitchen, where the biggest cauldron of rice I’ve ever seen was bubbling merrily away. (Seriously, the diameter must have been around 3 feet). We got to help stir the yoghurt, and then watched as the workers added the rice, meat, and seasonings. Mansaf consists of a bed of thin bread over which yoghurt (a water mix of two types of yoghurt) is poured to make it easier to tear. Then, seasoned rice is spread over that. The meat – lamb in this case – has been cooked and then its broth added to the big vat of yoghurt that is used to soften the bread and make the rice sticky; then the meat is added to the yoghurt and cooked for awhile. Finally, the meat is put on top of the rice with slivered and toasted almonds. While all this was being done, we also got taken back to another room in the huge kitchen to sample some dessert that I don’t know what it was actually called, but it had pistachios sprinkled on top. It was good.

We ate the mansaf with our hands, of course. And, of course, this was taking place in the cafeteria, so the two large tables of American students eating mansaf acted as the day’s entertainment to the rest of Jordanian students. A random student even came over and took a picture of us while eating. I love blending in.

Treasure

Expensive day. For our Colloquial Arabic class, we met at a restaurant. Now, it should have been actually less expensive to go here first, since it is between my house and the University. But did the taxi driver know where it was? No. Did he take me to another neighborhood entirely and I had to tell him, no, it’s near the University? Yes. Did he take me up past the North Gate of the University, despite my best attempts to tell him it was the other way? Sigh. Yes. So, about 1 dinar more than I would spend on a normal ride to the University, I hopped out and ran down the busy street and found another cab.

“Abu Zhabara?” I asked this driver, thinking I’d have to bust out all my fancy “close to” “beside” and “between” Arabic words.

“Abu Zhabara!” he said. And away we went. It was only an extra 1.50 to get to the restaurant.

I waited with one other girl for about 30 minutes before most of the rest of the class arrived. Apparently, Abu Zhabara isn’t that well known to drivers. However, Hardees is. I had to give directions over the phone to the driver of another girl’s cab and he at least knew Hardees. (Because, remember, taxis drivers and everyone else here do not really go by street names.) So. Then we all waited for another 15 minutes before the teacher arrived – she was late because her car had gotten a flat tire.

Finally we all settled in to order breakfast (another 3JD that I don’t normally spend). This was hilarious because there were 11 of us Americans who barely speak and read Arabic and our teacher was doing her utmost to make us speak and read Arabic. The waiters had a fun day, I would bet.

Then another cab ride back to the University. Another 25 piasters (it was less because we split it among three of us and we were going to a different gate).

Then this evening my normal cab-sharer didn’t cab share and I was leaving from yet another gate that was even further from my house – so it was yet one more dinar fifty that I don’t normally spend.

Oh, and did I mention it was hailing as I walked twenty minutes outside from one class to another? Yes. Yes it was hailing.

On the dreary ride home, I realized how grumpy I had become as I was obsessing over the extra money I had spent. It is true that I am not a greedy person, but I am, what I would like to call, frugal. Thrifty. Prudent. Okay, okay, I am downright tightfisted and stingy. I may be able to care less about amassing wealth but I sure do hate to let any of it go. And this is wrong. However, living in Jordan and in such a cash-based society in which I have to physically hand over money every day has been good for me in forcing me to confront this problem. I must ask myself, why is it so hard for me to see my money go – even to absolutely necessary things? Is it because I trust money to provide me with security, comfort, and safety? Is it because I fear my future needs won’t be provided for or that I might miss out on some future good? Ultimately I know that any amount of temporal wealth can provide neither contentment nor security and that my trust belongs in Someone else. I know that good stewards are neither wasteful spendthrifts nor penny-pinching hoarders. I know that the money is in my care in order to be given to good things. But getting that knowledge from my head and into my tightly clutched wallet is taking quite a long taxi drive.

Body clock!

Dear friends and family,

I know this will come as a complete and unexpected surprise to you; a shock, you may well indeed say. It was a shock to me as well.

I have developed a body clock. Circadian rhythm. My superchiasmatic nucleus is properly functioning. Whatever you want to call it: I go to bed around 10 or 11pm and wake up at 6am. I am awake when it is light and asleep when it is dark. When 10pm rolls around, I get sleepy. How extraordinary is that!!!!!!

I used to disbelieve that caffeine actually affected me in any way. Now, I realize that it was probably the 36 ounces of black coffee every morning that kept me awake following my normal 3-4 hours of rest during school.

All I can say is, I really miss my caffeine.

Twins, round two

I forgot about two sets of dopplegangers in previous post on twins. So that brings the total up to seven.

One of them is interesting. My professor for Modern History of Jordan is a diplomat and former ambassador. He teaches the class well, and it is certainly very interesting in many ways (if not quite approaching the heights of beauty that, say, Swern oxidations reach).

However, he really looks like my pastor from home, down to the hairstyle, style of reading glasses, and manner of talking.

This is rather unsettling.

That is all.

Twins!

Okay, so what is up with all the twins of people I already know in the States?

Seriously. I have seen the exact counterparts of five friends here....not to mention the Arab twin of Hugh Laurie (Wooster/Dr. House).

He was just a little disappointing, though. I was expecting Jeeves to be following after.

Souvenirs!

Is there anything in particular anyone would want? I'd like to bring back souvenirs for people, but if you want anything especially, just let me know and I'd be happy to get it for you.

Since I only brought two pieces of luggage, technically, if I really want to, I can buy another piece of luggage and bring home 40 more pounds of souvenirs!! Do you have any idea how much food I can bring back? Dried fruits, Jordanian/Syrian candy, spices, coffees, nuts.....not to mention the more traditional gifts of scarves, clothing, jewelry, foreign money, and knick-knacks.

Pictures 2.27-3/5

Pictures from last week are up here.

Also, I had edited and added captions to all these in another program, thinking the changes would also be saved when uploaded to the web....alas, they were not. So there are no captions and some of the pictures are sideways. I'll have to go back and edit them later.

Dead Man's Float

Nearly dead from famine ourselves, we drove to our encampment on the Dead Sea. Provided with our meager rations, I could only force myself to sample the desserts.

Removing our blood-stained hauberks and dented cuisses, we were ready for the supposed healing afforded by the mud of the Dead Sea. Lathering ourselves, we braved the chilly water.

If the fabled mud didn’t exactly provide miraculous results, the views at least were a solace to our dust-sickened eyes.

After taking the waters, we rinsed and returned to the fresh-water pools of our barracks.

The bone-sawyers and leeches would be busy, I knew, with all the injuries from our small contingent. It must be such a burden, I sympathized, for them to work in this forsaken and ugly station.

After properly sunning ourselves, we reluctantly returned to the bus, unwilling to face the biggest battle of all: classes the following morning. Bright and early.

Kerak

Barely after the sun’s rising, we travel hardened warriors prepared ourselves for the day’s onslaught boarding on the girthy bus. We drove towards the desert, our only sustenance fresh bread and cheese pastry snatched on the way.

The sun beat upon us as we traveled barren leagues of desert; it was all we could do to keep the air-conditioning properly adjusted on our bus.

A near eternity of driving and our battalion approached the fortress of Kerak that perches high above the wadi with perfect view of every approach. We could not escape notice as we paused a moment to survey our position.

The blank stares of the villagers were our reception as the bus sidled through the threadlike streets. Approaching Kerak, our horde dismounted, prepared to storm the gate.

The fight was fierce; at last, we emerged victorious in seizing the side gate and swarming into the fort itself. Impressed by its massive size, we separated to explore the narrow warrens and tortuous passageways. Now, however, I realized the lack of foresight: without flashlights I could not explore many of the dark passages extending into eternity from the main hall. The fort defenders, unkindly, had not provided us with flaming torches to light our way to their last craven hiding holes.

Here it was, however, that the circumstances of the visit changed. Now, no longer the invading army, we were under siege. As a member of the small band of hardy warriors, I peered through the narrow bow-slits, ready with my cross bow to fire on the swarming hordes below. Pushed from narrow room to narrow room, through grottos and labyrinths, I explored what hope lay in our last defenses. The few Halflings kept my back, ducking about their own doors to their sections of the fortifications from which they could better harass the enemy unseen.

Following some unknown tunnel, I stumbled into the daylight and ran to escape the arrows arching towards me. I tumbled into a cave covered by the treacherous barbed wire of the enemy, only to find a worse horror awaiting me.

Bones surrounded me. Ribs and jawbones were at my feet, half buried in loose soil. Here, I thought, here is lair of the Nameless Dread from which wives’ tales and children’s nightmares are made. This is the Kerak Kraken’s Cave, whither the barbarous enemy casts the unlucky captive to meet his doom. I saw the small hollows where hid hideous spiders, lurking in their silken nets for the Kraken to leave them their spoils.

Shivering, I waited to steal my moment of escape. Sword thrust and shield feint. Twanging bow and swinging mace. Through the courtyard, under arch and threatening tower. At the furthest wall, I clambered to a narrow ledge. Behind me ran the raging enemy; from above, his shots hailed down. Below me lay the valley’s welcome. I had no time to make decisions; no time for any thought at all……

A voice came from the furthest reach of the courtyard.

“Hurry up! We’re leaving!”

I hopped from the wall to join the tour group. After all, there were other fortresses waiting for freedom.

Gory Picnic

My plans to stay home today and study (midterms in three weeks!) were set aside to go on a picnic and Saturday drive with my host family, as they normally go out in the Spring on this picnic to the Ghor. They had a really tough time convincing me to go along sightseeing and having lunch al fresco, but I finally relented and assented to allowing them the pleasure of my presence. They practically had to drag me out the door.

Riiiiiiiiight.

We started by driving to the town of Jerash, built around the ruins of Jerash, where we stopped to pick up food for the picnic. This was an adventure in itself, requiring stopping at several shops while my host parents bought lebnah (a strained yoghurt), grilled meat, bread, water, Pepsi, and labneh (a drink made from lebnah and carbonated water) – all the fixings.

While waiting out one of the shops, a protest or demonstration arose – lots of honking cars filled with shebaab piled about and singing. My host dad joined in the honking as we tried to get through the congestion, and then went through the narrow back streets.

We drove and drove and drove a little bit more, heading through Ajloun, past myriads of cars and families that had the same idea of a spring picnic. Finally settling on a spot, we got out and ate our lamb grill sandwiches and drank labneh. I must admit, though, that I don’t think yoghurt and fizzy water just should be mixed. Fizzy water and artificial cola flavoring, yes. Fizzy water and fermented dairy products, not so much.

More driving through the beautiful countryside followed. We went through several wadis, curing up and down mountain roads that I didn’t think the vehicle could conquer. We stopped once to do a bit of leg stretching, and my host brother and I quickly went off to scramble about the rocks. I really pity boys that grow up without mountains, or dogs, or goats, or at least sandlots to conquer.

After a few more hours of driving, we pulled into a small town where my host parents went to buy vegetables and I, my host sister, and the maid waited in the car. We watched a wedding procession go through the dusty streets: two minibuses, multiple conversion vans, cars, and pickups all packed with people leaning out the windows, clapping and singing.

My host parents returned. More driving. We passed through what should be the Jordan National Golf Course – the largest in the world. One hole per hill; comes with its own nature-made sand-traps.

A few more stops for fresh vegetables – 1JD for an immense amount of peppers and tomatoes; come summer, a kilo goes for 10 piasters or so. We drove as far to the western border of Jordan as we could and saw a beautiful sunset from the far mountains across the border.

Spice of life

Went shopping today. Now, normally, that is not noteworthy. It is noteworthy, however, when one goes to a Jordanian bakery and coffee/spice shop.

My host mom (HM) drove my host brother (HB) over to a friends, and then we went to the shopping district and had a nice bit of conversation.

We stopped at a fruit and vegetable store, where the owner’s cute, young son was sweeping the floor. The only part of the conversation between him and my host mom that I understood was her asking his name and where he went to school and that she had a son that also went to school. It was so funny, because there was a Rumpelstiltskin, “guess my name” game going on between him and HM.

Then onto the bakery.

Oh, heaven.

Help me, Rhonda.

The fragrances. The scents. The essences of pure delight.

Fresh bread of every sort and every size. We saw the bread being made, just puffed from its trip through the oven and down the conveyor belt. Slap, slap, slap, the workers pulled it off and tossed it by the kilo onto the balance.

The sweets section drew me: trays of knaffeh and I-don’t-know-what-it’s-called just begging to be eaten. Just look at those delicious puffed and glazed pastries.

I held strong, though…..and then we went onto the “coffee” store across the way.

You know, if you really want to learn self control, just go and shop in a bakery and then a spice shop without buying anything. St. Anthony the Great himself would be sorely tempted.

There were huge bins of just zaatar, a thyme spice mixture you add to olive oil, zait, to eat with bread as zait al zaatar.

Further tubs contained rose hips, rosemary, curries, peppers, nuts, dates, corn, chickpeas, beans, flours, and sugars.

Perfume, I think, should smell like a spice shop – but then, I’d always be hungry. Scratch that idea.

We finally left…but I’m looking forward to returning!

Soo, about pictures....

I've just spent the last 4 hours trying to get my pictures all nicely uploaded and artistically arranged on the page. Blogger is having none of it. So, you'll just have to enjoy the posts sans pictures on the same page; just go to the week's picasa gallery to look at the pictures along with the posts, and it should make sense. I've captioned the pictures nicely, too.

EDIT: Okay, so I've gone back and at least linked words in my Salt posts to their corresponding pictures. (Just right click, and then select "Open link in new window.") It's not that great, but it's better than nothing.

Eating out

Not much adventure today....classes, in which we had our first little "conversation time" in Arabic with our teacher. We established her relationship and child status and where she buys her clothing. This may promise to mean we never get to ask her any more questions.

This evening I went out to dinner with some friends to Jaffra.....delicious, delicious lamb grill! (Also, more bread with hummus and babaghanouj than I should've had; but I made up for it by *not* having knaffeh or their amazing lemon and mint drink.)

Also, I need to bring my camera with me to class next week. I promise to post with some pictures of the campus and give you an overview of what a typical day looks like.

(I also am meaning to write about talipes equinovarus, but you probably weren't jumping up and down in your chair to know that.)