Any given Wednesday...

This is as good a day as any to take you through a normal Wednesday in my life. (I just turned in an Amiyya homework that did it in Arabic, but I thought you might appreciate the English. You are welcome.)

I cannot say that I woke up this morning, because I didn't wake up this morning (or this afternoon, for that matter), since I had stayed up all night working on a paper for my history class. Its title was "Transjordanian participation in the world wars and its effect upon nation building." I started the paper around 1am and had five pages finished by 6:45am when I needed to get my things together to leave by 7am.

Here is a picture of my wardrobe (in which, unfortunately, reside no Lions, Dwarves, or Fauns - I've checked) and here is a picture of what I see when I look outside the window. Although you cannot see it in the picture, directly below me is a small patio with an abundant overgrowth of vines and plants that bear the flower - the perfect sanctuary for the Cat Mother and her three small kittens. I just discovered them yesterday and have enjoyed watching them tumble over themselves and practice their urban jungle survival skills.

I grabbed a piece of bread with the lebeneh cheese spread and jam, hastily gathered my things, and went on my way to a pleasant walk up to the place where I meet my classmate so we can share a taxi from our neighborhood to the University. It really is a lovely walk, if a bit hilly. (Actually, that last one doesn't show any hills, but believe me - they are there, lurking, waiting to destroy my quads and hamstrings and other muscle groups I'd rather not think about.)

I arrived at the location, only to realize I had a text from her saying she wouldn't be there that morning due to work. So, I hailed a cab, made sure I memorized his number and then told him to the University. On my way, I worked on my homework for Amiyya about what I do every day.

I arrived at the classroom, surprised to find the classroom door open, and took my usual seat. I studied for a few minutes and the others trickled in. Dr. Muna arrived, and we teased her a bit about being on time because yesterday her alarm clock had broke and she slept in, missing the first half hour of class. We then reviewed some vocabulary and took our quiz (all about telling time, yay!).

So, the moment class was over I took my computer and hightailed my little self over to the office building where I could study in this "Knowledge Society Club" arrangement, using their internet. I finished most of my paper in the 3 hours I have between classes, then headed back to the giant yellow banana building (it's curved and yellow) that houses the language department in order to take my Archaeology class. I, for the first time, hauled out my laptop and used it to take notes while I proof-read my paper. Paper got corrected and I got complete notes for class - it was full of win for everyone except my poor back which had to lug it around all the time.

Then, back to the KSC to print out my 13 pages - for a dinar 30. *grumble* I had thought we were supposed to get 10 free pages of printing/day with our membership, but apparently not.

This was followed by the 30 minute walk across campus, past the School of Medicine, the School of Pharmacy into the College of Rehab Sciences, where I had my class. I presented my paper.

Then the 30 minute walk back to Suicide Alley to pick up a bus to Raghadan. Then at Raghadan to wait for 30 minutes for the bus home (only 90 piasters, though, instead of 220!). Once home, I helped cut up lots of vegetables for our dinner salad. Ummy, yummy food, now writing this.

Petra, day 2

Here is the link to the photos from Petra for days 1-3! Also, the first several pictures are of the inside of my host home.

Here is the rundown of Petra, day 2

It began as I awoke ridiculously early, wanting to get to the site early enough to go climb a few mountains. My traveling companion had other ideas, and so she slept a little bit longer and we had a later continental breakfast (which was amazing: loads of bread, smothered with rich jams, and dark and succulent dates to savor). Finally, we headed out for the day, stopping at a local falafel shop to pick up a container of hummus and some falafel for our lunch. We also brought a big container of water; all if it was worth it, but we did have to carry it around all day. God to the site around 10 and decided to climb up the the High Place of Sacrifice and then back, because we had made plans to meet up at 1 with some other students from our program who were coming for the day. It was a lovely, if brutal, climb. I, however, enjoyed it immensely as I convinced myself I was Frodo, climbing up the Stairs to Mordor, only the very rocks themselves had been stained red and not black due to the blood that had seeped through from Shelob's desecrations. It was a fun hike. We got to the top, saw some obelisks, took some pictures, and then I hiked up a bit further to see the platform where the ancient place of sacrifice had been. Coming back down, I got a text from one of the coming students, saying, oh, could we meet earlier? They were still at the hotel, so I told them it would probably take an hour for them to get there. I went back to my friend, and tried to climb down to the basin area to see the Lion Triclinium. had a fun moment, as I went over to a rock outcropping to get a particular picture, and then another tour group followed me, thinking I knew the way down to the Triclinium. Just takin' a photo, here, peoples. Nothing to see, move along. After that, we hiked a bit further down the path, but finally decided that we wouldn't make it back there in time; so I had to leave my Roman era tombs unexplored. *Sniff* *Sniff*. Went back to where we were supposed to meet them - on the way, met one of them hiking up the same path we had just come; I gave him the lay of the land, and convinced him to go to the Monastery. Finally got back to where we were to meet the rest of the group; we had 20 minutes to spare, but they weren't there. I left my friend to sit on a bench - and befriend some cute little Bedouin children - while I ran around to hike up another face of the mountain to see some of the Royal Tombs I hadn't seen the other day. Had a great sense of exploration and conquering places I shouldn't be allowed, until I saw another tour group coming towards me. Damped the sense of conquering a bit, I must say, to see old French ladies marching towards you. Oh, well. I was there first. Got back just at the stroke of 12 and met with the other friends. We walked towards the Monastery, and my travelling companion convinced the rest of us that taking a donkey up the steep climb was the best way to go - which it was. She argued the man down to 4JD/person for the donkey trip; she had been told it was 5JD by the little boy she had met while waiting for me. The donkey ride was a lot of fun - much more comfortable than a camel! Saw the Monastery (actually, a feasting room to the memory of the deceased and deified King Obodas, who died around 86BC, but, anyway). Sat down with my friend to eat lunch. We were approached by a large white dog, his tail gently wagging. We tore off half a biscuit to throw away to get rid of him; but he wouldn't be gotten rid of until another large dog cam running at him, barking and snarling. There was a dog fight in front of us and around us. It was, I must admit, one of the more harrowing experiences in my time in Jordan. Finally, some guys found some stones to throw at them and they took their fight away. The white dog then returned - we had a bag filled with the hummus that had spilled during our day's hiking that he wanted. I tried to take it with us, but after he went after my leg, I decided that littering was a better choice than getting rabies or fleas or bot-flies or trypanosoma or prostate cancer or whatever other scary medical condition I could think of. My friend and I walked back; had fun browsing at all the Bedouin knick-knack stalls, and she bought some things. By now, it was around 3pm; we had planned to see a few more sites, but the heavens opened and the rains came down - we hid in a cave, but we were already soaked. Back to the hotel - hot showers and internet once again.

Petra, day 1

Here is the link for pictures from day 1 of Petra!

The short version:

Went to bed frustrated because the internet was gone and I had the final part of a group project due; it was cold and rainy and none of the bus company numbers I had tried worked. Woke early today and it was *still* cold and raining heavily. Walked a great deal before finally getting a cab; very nervous I wouldn't make it in time for the 6:30 am bus. I did, however, and we got two of the last 5 seats on the bus. Waited with a lot of German, French, and Russian tourists. Uneventful bus ride, although my lovely traveling partner did bring food that I obligingly ate :-)

Got here and got a taxi; email from the hotel had said it would be 2JD (which really is generous). Like fools, didn't establish the price before hand....he tried to make us pay five at the end. He had to settle for 3 as he cussed us out. Lovely man. Room wasn't ready (checkout is at 2:30, what can I say), so we had a glass of tea while waiting. Got to our rooms, got wonderful internet access and got my assignments submitted. Then, a 1JD taxi ride to the opening - no maps available because the building is under renovation - and we got our 1JD tickets, instead of the normal 50JD or so. Being a Jordanian resident rocks! Went in and explored. Saw disgusting evidence and displays of public urination. Saw much other general "Haram-ness" (come on, ladies, you really should wear more than a camisole and short-shorts here!) at which I, in my long sleeved sweater and jeans, sadly clicked my tongue. Had fun climbing about. Pondered how the giant sand-stone walls made me feel under-water. Also ate an absolutely enormous sandwich for lunch, sitting in an old tomb, over looking the Wall of Facades. Thought deeply about the transitory nature of humanity and our accomplishments, standing in front of the nearly worn away Theatre build in the time of Christ. Beautiful weather, day, and company! Walked back to the entrance in the cool of the evening, got a 1JD taxi back to the hotel; then to lovely, steaming hot showers and more internet. You can see the pictures for yourself. Lovely day!

Ich habe genug....

*Sigh*

I was going to have a complaining moment or day or blog post or silent, primal scream.

However, Dietrich Fischer Dieskau, a good dinner, and a little old fashioned conviction do wonders for one's frustrations.

So, I will leave you with the words from JSBach's cantata for the Feast of the Purification, based on Simeon's canticle:

Ich habe genug I have enough

Ich habe den Heiland, das Hoffen der Frommen, I have held the Saviour, the hope of all people
Auf meine begierigen Arme genommen; In the warm embrace of my arms;
Ich habe genug! I have enough!

Ich hab ihn erblickt, I have seen him,
Mein Glaube hat Jesum ans Herze gedrückt; My faith has impressed Jesus on my heart.
Nun wünsch ich, noch heute mit Freuden Now I wish this very day with joy
Von hinnen zu scheiden. From here to depart.

Ich habe genug. It is enough.
Mein Trost ist nur allein, My one consolation is this:
Dass Jesus mein und ich sein eigen möchte sein. That Jesus is mine and I am His.
Im Glauben halt ich ihn, In faith I hold him
Da seh ich auch mit Simeon For I already see in Simeon
Die Freude jenes Lebens schon. The joy of life to come.
Laßt uns mit diesem Manne ziehn! Let us go forth with this man.
Ach! möchte mich von meines Leibes Ketten Oh! If only from my body's enslavement
Der Herr erretten; The Lord would free me;
Ach! wäre doch mein Abschied hier, Oh! If indeed my liberation were soon,
Mit Freuden sagt ich, Welt, zu dir: With Joy I would say, O World, to you:
Ich habe genug. I have enough.

Jordanian Culture Moment (Lahza Al-thuqafa Al-Urdineey)

My host father beckoned me over to the window.

"Come, see what they are doing outside."

In the street below was a grey van parked beside the half-built apartment complex opposite us. The fan was half-filled with men in keffiyah and khaki dish-dash like clothing. They were waiting as five of the others formed a semi-circled and practiced dabkeh on our street. Two or three of them stood to the side, laughing and playing hand-drums. One man in modern garb stood at their other side directing them.

I went to get my camera; but when I returned, they were gone as unexpectedly as they had come.

Lunch adventures

I had a lovely lunch today at a fast-food place called Lebnani Snack. It's a ME version of McDonald's.

On the menu today was lamb brain sandwich. It was pretty good, but a little spicy.

I think I'll have to return to try their hot spleen sandwich.

Easter Salutations!

Spent Easter weekend just beyond the Jordan and had a wonderful time!

If you want the details or pictures, you'll have to ask for them once I get back to the States.

Christ is risen! He is risen indeed, hallelujah!

Umm Queis!

Here are the pictures from this weekend!

I shall post more later - along with the rest of the posts from Egypt and from Wadi Rum and the posts to go along with what a UJ day looks like - Lord willing.

But it was a fantastic weekend!

It takes talent.....

.....to send out an email meant for one person to all the 90+ people in your study abroad program. Including, I think, the directors and teachers.

Particularly an email that begins, "So, I just booked us a hotel for two nights!"

Yeah. 

Can I enter the Witness Protection Program, now? Please?

(On a side note, it totally was not my fault. I don't understand why, but here's what I happened: I used the "reply all" button on an email from our course director. Email screen pops up - I then delete all the contents of the email. I then go through and delete every single email address in the "to" box, except the one that I wanted. I write my email and then press send, having checked the recipients and having seen that it is only going to *one* person. I close my email account and go about my merry business. I then return a few hours later to a bunch of emails from people I don't know who are rather curious as to why I am spamming them with details about a hotel reservation. I check my "sent" folder and look at the email I sent: sure enough, in the folder it looked like it was going to only one person - but her name appeared about 90 times in the "to" box. I then opened the email - it still looked like it was only to one email address. However, I checked the "advanced properties" and there it listed all the email addresses of everyone in the program, to whom my email had apparently been sent. So, totally not my fault. Slightly embarrassing, nonetheless.)

Adventures in Umm Queis

Like most Jordanian adventures, this one begins with a taxi ride. I merely wanted to go to the North Bus Station, the Bus Station in Tabarbour, which is in Tareq. Now, I told my taxi driver this: "Tabarbour. I want to go to the bus station in Tababour." He said okay and I assumed that was it. We came to a turn-off for the general area and he asked, "Where?" I told him, "Tabarbour, you know, in Tareq." Tareq is the larger neighborhood and Tabarbour is the more specific area, or vice versa; maps and street signs are rather inexact sciences here. He said okay again and took the turn; I saw the signs pointing out that we were indeed in Tababour. He started driving down random streets that did not look like that streets I had seen before when I went to this particular bus station. Maybe, I thought hopefully, maybe he's taking a shortcut?

No, he wasn't. He gestured around. "Here's the mall in Tababour," (really just a small cement building), "where do you want to go?"

"MaHatat al-Bus fii Tababour."

He gestured in frustration and we took off in another direction, finally arriving at our destination. Why he didn't understand it the first time I told him and he agreed, I will never know.

I got on the public microbus, going to Irbid, sharing a seat with a young mother and her two children. This is where I noticed the difference a head-covering makes; every time I've been on a public bus in hijab, the lady beside me always strikes up a conversation and I generally wind up playing with her kids. Without hijab, there wasn't any conversation and she did her best to keep her (cute, pudgy!) little toddlers from annoying the strange Western woman.

In Irbid, I asked several people and finally got another bus going from the south to the north bus station in the city. From the north bus station, I found the bus going to Umm Queis, waiting in the hot sun for it to finally leave.

Finally, the bus made it to the modern town of Umm Queis and most of the passengers exited on its meandering streets. The bus pulled up to the end of a street and the driver pointed to a brown sign announcing "Ruins" that-a-way. I thanked him, and hiked up a rather steep hill.

Despite passing a Jordan Department of Antiquities guard lounging in a chair - to whom I showed my Jordanian ID - there was little to no marked entrance. I wandered about the premises, a bit overwhelmed by the large, partially restored basal structures in their grass coverings. Finally, I found a path - and realized I had come in the back way.

I entered the outdoor museum, where I signed the guestbook in Arabic, much to the impression of the curator. The museum had some fine first century medical tools; alas, no pictures. It also had some amazing sets of stone doors - some of which worked! (I was strongly reminded of Charn and greatly amused myself by pretending to be Jadis. The walls didn't shiver like silk, however, for me. So the the world is still safe, I guess.)

I meandered through the beautiful ruins, eventually stopping at the beautiful (but overpriced) outdoor restaurant to order some tea and babaghanouj. I then had my typical problem of getting the waiter's attention to remove my stuff and then even more of a problem getting his attention to give me my bill. With about 10 white-shirted waiters waiting around, one would think it would be easy - but nooooo. It seems that diners are supposed to linger for thirty or forty minutes, drinking in the scenery before a waiter will condescend to attend to such paltry matters as payment.

More exploring, surrounded by hordes of school-children and Jordanians. I was reminded heartily why I dislike traveling with crowds. I saw the theatre - you've seen Roman theatre, you've seen them all - and enjoyed walking about the town. I had wanted to see some specific basilica ruins, but couldn't find them. Being on an intense time budget - I had arrived around 12 and needed to leave by 3pm in order to catch what I supposed would be the last public transportation back - I hustled through the black ruins with a haste that was slightly frustrating. The scenery was absolutely stunning: you could see Israel and Syria in the distance, separated by the Sea of Galilee.

Rushing down the Cardo, I explored several small remainders of the once thriving city. I found a glorious old church, nearly taken over by wildflowers now buzzing with bees. There was a mausoleum and temple remnants, all being slowly hidden by the ever-encroaching green.

Among the eroding ruins, I found myself in a veritable Paradise; standing in the semi-circular remains of a basilica and surrounded by riotous flowers, I knew that if I could just remember the right words - if I could only put together the proper sequence of incantations - Aslan would come. I knew some of the trees had cousin in the Wood between the World or other distant relations in Archenland or perhaps even in Lantern Waste itself. Alas, I could remember no particular Words of Magic; but then, getting Aslan to come has never been about saying the exactly proper words, has it? So, just like Scrubb and Jill and their first attempts, I was disappointed. Not too terribly disappointed, though: I was still standing on a Roman road, in the midst of fields and fields of glorious color with Galilee just before me. What more could I want?

Well, a bus back to Amman, I suppose. I hurried to the end of the Cardo, noting the older French lady tourists and also seeing the biggest bulls of my life! (Thought Dad would appreciate that. Although some of them were cows, too. It was fitting, given that Umm Queis is in biblical Bashan) I left the ruins around 3:30, hustling down to the town. There was no particular bus stop - and the bus that morning had followed no particular route as it dropped off people to their given destinations. I realized I should have established with the driver when I needed to be picked up; but then, I hadn't been sure if it would be the same bus or not. I didn't want to wait until later, because I had heard horror stories from other students about having to pay a large amount of money to get back. I walked along the town's road, stopping at a small "super market" to buy a water and inquire of the owner how I could get the bus back to Irbid.

I pulled out the water bottle and approached him. He smiled, "Just water?" he asked in a very strong accent.

"Yes, just water," I replied in Arabic. He gave me a huge grin. "I want to take the bus back to Irbid. Can you tell me when it is? Where do I need to go?" His grin increased. He told me that there would be a bus coming along - 10 or 20 minutes - and I could wait there. As he slowly maneuvered about the shop, I had a thorough conversation about what I was doing in Jordan, what I thought of the country, the people, and the University. He motioned to a bright purple plastic chair, and told me I could wait there. I pulled it out to the porch, and enjoyed waiting my 30 minutes for the bus to arrive, surveying life like a local.

Day of rest

Spent the day catching up on some school work.

I also had volunteered to read personal essays for medical school through a website; so I amused myself by reading and closely editing about five of them. I then went and re-read my essay. It was even better than when I first submitted it.

I have then been writing blog posts to cover my time in Egypt and Wadi Rum; they are being posted under the dates they occurred, so you'll have to go back and find them.

My host mom's sister also came over for the day with her younger son. We had both Pizza Hut and Popeye's fried chicken today. I must admit, I prefer Arabic food. I don't know what I'm going to do when I get back home and can't get my babaghanouj!!!

Prince of Spain

I almost met the Prince of Spain and his wife today. Almost.

He was at the University of Jordan and was going to issue a speech to inaugurate the Spanish program at the language center at UJ. I was told to be there at 3:30 but when I arrived, they said, 4:30.

I decided to go home.

Taxiiiiiiiii

*Sigh* I was so glad to be back in Jordan after all the adventures with un-metered taxis in Egypt. No sooner do I arrive, however, than all taxis and buses seem to have gone on vendetta against my happy excitement to see them!


Yesterday, I left class to take a bus to 7th Circle, right beside the malls so I could buy some very much needed items. I knew which bus I needed: number 53. This was not a problem, as there were 3 number 53 buses lined up outside - normally, there's only one. The first one had open doors, but no one - not even a bus driver - inside. The second one had just disgorged its passengers, but it at least had a bus driver present. The third one had a bus driver, but no one else, and its doors were closed.

So, I did what any good, confused American would do: I wavered. Now, bear in mind, it was freezing cold out. It may seem that April should be perfect in the ME, but it has been rainy and cold and miserable for the last three days. So I stood outside, shivering, as I wandered from bus to bus, looking for hopeful signs such as bus drivers and passengers.

Finally, I caught the attention of the bus driver from the second bus, just as he was stepping out.

"Good evening," he said. (It was only 3 in the afternoon, but I'll take it.)

"7th Circle?" I tried in Arabic.

"Yes."

"Good. 65 or 60 piasters?"

"65." He then walked off the bus, leaving me holding my money.

Another official bus person poked his head around as he got off - "Where?"

"7th Circle. This bus goes to 7th Circle, right? But what about the other buses - which one goes first?" I tried my Arabic.

"Do you speak English?" he asked.

"Yes," I was a little disappointed. I just made it through Egypt where most people didn't speak English or Amiyya; one would think I could handle a little matter of which bus to get on.

"This bus." He said. "Sit down."

He really didn't need to bust out his English for that, I thought, as I sat down, still clutching my 65 piasters.

I waited; the first bus remained in its position, but the third #53 bus started moving. This, I decided, was patently unfair.

Apparently, the bus drivers thought so, too. They started yelling and gesticulating, persuading the other bus to maneuver into position in front of them. We then finally took off.

Quite some distance into the ride, the bus driver looked back at me. "Have you paid?"

"Nope," I said as I walked forward. I had been planning on doing that when I got off.

"Here," he took my money. "Let me tell you about the times."

"The times?"

"Of the bus."

"The bus times?"

"Yes."

I pondered for a second. What did he mean? His English was  a bit broken and accented (better than my Arabic, of course!), which is what I'll contribute my confusion.

"The times.....of the bus." I confirmed.


"Yes. You know when to take bus?"


"Yes." Now, I realize that between my searching for which bus to take and the whole not paying thing, it seemed that I might not know how to ride a bus. This is not true. It was very kind of him, but by now, my pride was involved. "Oh, I take the bus every day."

"You do?"

"Yes. Bus 53 or 52."

"What time?"

"Oh, around 5."

"Really/"

"Yes."

Finally, I went back to sit down and wait for the ride to end.


I got off at the mall, and quite successfully found what I wanted. Coming out of the mall, I was presented with a long line of taxis waiting. Normally, one merely goes to the first taxi in the row, gets in, and away you go. This time, however, a man stood outside waiting.

"Taxi? Taxi? You want a taxi?" He flicked his cigarrette in my direction.

I motioned to the taxis before me. "Well, yes."

He started walking me towards a car. "Traffic very bad today. For you, four JD."

I stopped, gave him my best gimlet eye and loudest American voice I could. "HA!" I walked off. I could hear him calling after me, "Look! Here! Here's a taxi with a meter!"

I then spent the next 20 minutes of my walk practicing my Arabic words - such as liar and cheat - and can now say quite confidently that I know how to properly tell off someone just trying to take advantage of naive Westerners. I'm only disappointed I didn't get to impress him with my abilities.

I finally found a taxi, relieved to be in the safe and non-confusing metered confines of a professional cab. We got to my destination without incident. I looked at the meter: 0.85JD. My 2JD were ready (with traffic, it can fall between 0.60 and 1.80, so I wanted to be ready or the meter would keep going as I fumbled with my change). Glad that I was all ready, I handed the driver the bills and waited a second for my change. He handed me a piece and I got out. As I walked home, I realized that the piece he had handed me was too large - 0.25JD instead of 0.10JD. What a nice taxi driver, I thought. I went to put it away - and realized that I had just given him an extra dinar. Well, I guess he can afford to be nice, with my dinar tip. I will, however, just assume that his taking it was as honest a mistake as my giving it. Riiiiiiight.

Then, today, I had more bus/taxi adventures. I got on the bus just in time and found a seat. However, shabayn in front of me decided that it was their bounden duty to serenade the entire bus with their loud Arabic love music selection. Seriously. They were acting as the unofficial stereo system of the bus. And no on batted an eyelash. Except me, of course. It wasn't too bad, though; it only reminded me of the 7 hour bus rides in Egypt in which they played Quranic chanting nonstop. For 7 hours. Straight. Quranic chanting. Loudly. Yes.

I get off at my stop and get a taxi for the ride home. Normally, this ride costs 0.80 JD at most. Somehow, his meter was going what seemed to be really fast. (They can adjust how fast the meters run to an extent.) I didn't want to call him on it, in case it was just my imagination, but we definitely reached 0.60 a bit before we should. So, I got out and walked.


Not the most frustrating things in the world - and I am truly glad to be back in Jordan - but still, it just goes to show you that human nature is the same every where in the world. It also goes to show you how eagerly I'm going to jump behind the wheel of the car when I get back. Although, I don't know - it has been really nice to be chauffeured everywhere. I could get accustomed to it - if I had a private limousine and the chauffeur had a uniform. And there was a strict no smoking and no Quranic chanting policy enforced. Then, I could definitely get used to it.

Normal class stuff

Today we covered "Flirting and Harassment" in Amiyya class. Great. Why couldn't we have covered this before I went to Egypt?

Just in case you really needed to know, the popular mating call of the Jordanian male involves, "Hey, ya, camel! Hey, ya, strawberry! Hey, ya, crisp lettuce!" These are compliments.

I would hate to hear their insults.

Midterms, part 2

So, the week before I left I had goodness knows how many midterms and papers. What I don't believe I mentioned, however, was that they were the easiest midterms of my life. I didn't want to mention it, because I am actually horrible at predicting how I did on exams - so if I thought the exams were super easy, it probably meant that I came close to failing each and every one.


I got the results back today.



Nope, I was right. For the first time in my life, how I felt about an exam was exactly how I did. Only four hours of studying for each exam or so. It was delightful, actually.


Now could someone please remind me why, exactly, I want to go to medical school?

There and back again

Here is the link to the first set of pictures from Egypt!

And here is the second set of pictures from Egypt! :-D

Home is the sailor, home from the sea

I have safely arrived from Egypt - thank you for all your prayers! I certainly saw ample evidence of God's goodness, grace, and guidance on this absolutely amazing and indescribable adventure!

There are two reasons I came to Jordan. Oh, I know I talked about wanting to learn the language and meet people and experience the culture, but really I am here only because of two people. These two men have had a large and unexpected impact on my life and have shaped it in ways I never could have expected. They are two true characters for whom I early felt a deep affection. It is strange to think that such small encounters and chance words, one's life should be forever molded and taken in a new and unexpected direction.

Really, I came to Jordan solely because of Tutankhamen and Aladdin. 

(Whom else were you expecting? Really.)

We covered Tutankhamen and the basic history of ancient Egypt when living in Britain; I was fascinated by the writing system and the story of his tomb's discovery. My interest in Tutankhamen eventually passed; but not before led to my love of Nat Geo and my current interest in languages. In the thick of it, however, I might have even passed through a tiny phase in which I was obsessed with hieroglyphics and the details of mummifications and in which I wanted to be an Egyptologist....but then, who doesn't? I might have also passed through a tiny phase in which I swore I would legally change my name to Jasmine as soon as I turned 18 and was convinced that flying carpets and genies were real.....but then, doesn't everyone?

So, although Egypt was not the place I wanted to go originally for break, it is little surprise that I did end up there. I was able to achieve several life goals - see the Valley of the Kings, Luxor Temple, and Karnak - and call myself Yasmine the entire trip. 

Now, when anyone asks me how spring break was, all I can think of are the lyrics to "A Whole New World":

Unbelievable sights

Indescribable feeling.....

A hundred thousand things to see....

I've come so far

I can't go back 

To where I used to be

A whole new world

With new horizons to pursue

Every moment red-letter

I'll chase them anywhere

There's time to spare

Let me share this whole new world with you.

So, now I am in the midst of writing up a weeks worth of posts to share with you. It may have been a completely amazing and indescribable adventure - but believe me, I'll try anyway!

Egypt, Day 10 part 2: Safely into Port

We pull into Nuweiba and the driver takes me to the port to buy my ticket for the ferry. I'm only slightly surprised by the industrial nature of the area - it's obviously mainly used for import/export of produce, not tourists, and I am surrounded by enormous trucks and metal sheds shimmering in the glaring heat. I buy my ticket, but the agent doesn't tell me when the ferry is leaving, just that I should go over there now. I get my bags scanned in an ancient commercial type scanner, built more for giant flats of vegetables or fabrics than for my single bookbag. I find my way to another metal shed, where I offer up my passport for stamping. I then realize that I'm rather hungry, so I ask if I can go back and get some food? I buy a few things, and spend a few moments in conversation with the salesman, confusing him with my use of Amiyya then trying to switch into FusHa but using Amiyya verb conjugation and so only confusing him more.

I go back and enter the waiting area, more than slightly nervous. It's an old warehouse building, packed with migrant Egyptian workers. It seems I'm either late or early or at the wrong location. I look for any signs of tourists or Westerners, finally spotting a white guy with a large packpacking outfit. I walk towards him and find a bench that's empty. I sit and eat my date-filled biscuits and drink some water; finally spotting an officer, I approach him and ask in Arabic if this is the right building and here's my ticket, when do I leave? He motions silently outside to a bus that has just pulled up. I clamber inside and put my bag beside me, blocking anyone from sitting there. I spot the western man again - the bus is nearly full and I haven't seen any women yet. I remove my bag and he sits beside me, a little surprised, I think at my Caucasian face. We sat silently until the bus stopped and we stood in the snaking line, with the hundreds of migrant workers filling up the belly of the ship. While waiting, the man asked me about my trip in Egypt and I found out he was a Frenchman heading to Amman for a day or two before traveling further to Beirut. In the crush of people, I lost sight of him as I worked my way slowly up the steps. It reminded me a bit of the ferry boats I had been on in Disney world; the same worn carpet, metal stairs, and wear-polished brass railing knobs. My passport was examined yet again, and I was told to go upstairs to get it stamped. I wandered through two decks before finally finding the tiny office. Being the only woman in the place, I was kindly waved to the font of the line and my passport stamped. I meandered out to the top deck to find a good place. The upper deck with its benches and good view was mainly filled with men, but I found a group of obvious tourists and stationed myself on an empty bench near them. They, however, appalled me with their ridiculous clothing and behavior. I, on the other hand, shocked them by speaking perfect English and telling them where to get their passports stamped. There was an older couple of an Australian man and his South Korean wife to whom I enjoyed talking, comparing prices in Egypt and talking about the situation in Syria. I found out that my 5LE cab rides were nothing compared to their minimum 20LE cab rides and food that I got for the posted price cost them a pretty penny….a little bit of Arabic and hijab go a long way, I guess. They wanted to cross the border at Ramtha into Syria, but I told them that when I had left, the border was closed. I wonder if they ended up flying there.

The Frenchman wandered up on deck and spotted me. I offered my guidebook for him to pick out a hotel and then spent the next two hours giving him a run down on Jordan in general and Amman in particular. I told him about the taxi and bus system, and I told him I would help him get a bus back to the city from Aqabah. After getting some snack food (I bought my own, thank you very much for your suspicions), we spent the next hour discussing French identity and its role in intercultural relations. A sudden rain storm broke out, and in the melee that resulted I lost sight of him. In seeking shelter, I decided that the best thing I could do would be follow the natives – which I did, into a comfortable movie theatre. I waited there until the rain died down, and then wandered onto deck. I found a nice looking younger woman and stationed myself beside her.

“Salaam alaykum,” I greeted her.

“Wa alaykum es-salaam,” she replied. In the next few minutes, we established names, homes, and general backgrounds and that I was a Christian but wearing the abeya and hijab for several reasons. My Arabic had pretty much run its course, so I smiled and went back to watching the sea.

She, however, did not think this was satisfactory. She started the conversation again, doing her best to convert me to Islam. Given my limited Arabic skills, this was difficult, but I got the general idea. It was frustrating to me to not be able to answer her questions: “Who made the world? Look at it all about us. God made it, of course,” to which I agreed. “How could God come as a man? Jesus was born, yes?” Yes. “He ate like us, drank like us, slept like us, yes?” Yes. “How could God do this? God is high, and holy. How could God become a man?”

Yes, indeed. But that’s the whole point, isn’t it? That when we didn’t deserve it, the eternal Christ was made flesh, born of the Virgin Mary, and was crucified under Pontius Pilate and rose again on the third day according to the Scriptures – and is now seated at the right hand of the Father whence he shall come to judge both the quick and the dead.

My grasp of Arabic, however, could not explain all that, so the most I could do was hold to orthodoxy, re-iterating “There is one God, only one, and Christ is God. God*is* great, yes.” It rather takes your breath away, though, to hear the flat out denial, “Christ is not God. Christ was only a man.” It’s easy to pussy-foot around the matter, and be a good person, and go to church, and believe in God – but don’t the devils also believe in a god – and doing so, don’t they tremble? But the crux of the matter, of all the world, of all life, comes to rest upon Christ.

By this time, the boat had nearly pulled into port. She left me with strong injunctions to read the quran in Arabic – I told her I had read in in English (which I have) – she told me how when she read it, her heart lit up, and she rejoiced. It made her to sleep in peace and on a bed of ease was, I think, the general expression. I did my best to explain my Book did the same for me, but she was at a distinct advantage in the Arabic department. By this time, we had drawn enough stares from the other third class passengers surrounding us, and the ferry was in port. We parted with a hug and go in peace. And I pray she finds that true peace.

I went back inside and found the Australian couple and “Jacques” standing and talking. Joining them, we waited, contemplating how long it would take for us to be able to disembark. Well, it ended up taking 2 hours from the time we came to port to the time we disembarked. It might have been due to the pouring rain, but I rather doubt it. By the time we got to land, it was around 9 in the evening.

Some confusion later, and we got through customs. I sailed through easily, with my Jordanian residency card, and enjoyed talking with a few of the customs officers about UJ and Jordan, getting hearty “welcome-backs”; and, in many ways, it felt very much like a home coming.

We wondered out to the parking lot and split off from the Australian couple, who got a taxi to their hotel in Aqaba. I found a private bus going to Amman, and took Jacques with me. We waited at the bus (a large minivan, really), as one of the “controllers” went to find more passengers from the migrant workers. We waited for about 15 minutes, and another passenger showed up, an elderly man who was simply addressed by the term Hajj, out of respect for his pilgrimage. 15 more minutes or so of waiting – which I didn’t mind, because I was busy really enjoying listening to the conversation between the Hajj and one of the other “controllers” because I could understand nearly all of it because it was in the Jordanian and not in the Egyptian dialect. Jacques offered some dates around to everyone; I had told him their name was “belaH,” however, the big Palestinian controller gave them another name. The Hajj, however, backed me up; so, it seems, there are multiple dialect names for dates, perhaps depending on the variety.

After the 30-45 minute wait, the van was finally crammed full, and off we went. I called my host parents, telling them that I expected to be in around 1:30 am, since it’s a 4 hour trip back to Amman. This, however, was short sighted. First, I didn’t add in the time it took to stop to buy a brief meal for the driver (there was a driver and two controllers), or the time for a food/restroom stop later for the passengers, or the time for the check-point stop in which all the workers had to get out and the guards go through their belongings. I also didn’t take into account the fact that the Hajj lived in Tafileh, which is in the Ghor (Jordan Valley), which is a considerable distance from Amman. He insisted that he could be dropped off at such and such a place, but the drivers insisted right back; and so it was that I came to be riding at 1:30 am through the Ghor in a minivan with 9 Palestinians and a Frenchman. He started to ask me if I had been to Israel, and then I got to lecture him on the Arab-Israeli conflict. We encountered no problems, however, and the Hajj and the controllers were especially nice after I answered their questions by showing them my ring and informed them that Jacques and I were engaged (and then politely responding to the Hajj’s blessing of many children upon us). I also was careful to inform them that I was going home and that Jacques would be staying at a hotel. When you are a single lady traveling at night with a man, you are engaged, I informed Jacques, who was a little surprised when I answered his question of “what just happened?” This brought on another lecture about Middle Eastern culture and my general views on honesty. I spent a few more moments translating the general ideas of the conversation between the shebaab and the Hajj – they were talking, of course, about the doings in Syria and how it compared to Jordan, and what they thought it meant for the Palestinian state – before leaning forward over my bookbag and trying to get some sleep.

We arrived in Amman around 4am and got dropped off at the University of Jordan. The driver had earlier asked Jacques, at our food stop, if he was Christian or Muslim? Expecting, of course, the answer to be Muslim, because otherwise what is he doing with a Muslim woman late at night? Jacques answered Christian, of course, which nonplussed the driver – but Jacques not speaking any Arabic and no one else any English, the thing couldn’t go any further. Just before we left, however, the driver asked Christian or Muslim? I told him Christian and gave him a quick rundown of the reasons – it’s pretty, I’m a modest person, and out of respect to the culture. He smiled at me and gave me his quranic prayer book, inspired, I think, by the Hajj out of whose mouth came “Masha allah” (behold what God has done) every other word or so.

A taxi finally came along and I negotiated with the driver and told him to get me home and Jacques to his hotel. We had a nice ride, in which we had the typical conversation covering my life story and Jacques’ in my broken Amiyya. I got dropped off at home and Jacques continued on to his hotel.

I made a quick call home and was just as quickly asleep. I think my guardian angels need a vacation after my vacation.

Home is the sailor, home from the sea, indeed.

Egypt, Day 10 part 1: Returning Home

We were finally on our way back down, again passing all of the refreshment huts run by the Bedouins. From Wadi Rum to Petra to the Pyramids, Karnak and Luxor, to Saint Catherine's Monastery, each place was run by the Bedouins with their coffee stands and beaded necklaces. Should I journey to the world's edge, I should think I would there be greeted by the familiar "Welcome, welcome, cheap price!"

On the way back, though, the guide told me his story, if you can believe it. His father had two wives; he has one brother from his own mother and four sisters from his father's other wife. He said he does not care for his half-sisters, for what should they be to him? His brother (the oldest) has a college degree of some sort, but he himself (the guide) hadn't gone to school. He had grown up shifting among the various Bedu endeavors, working all over the Sinai peninsula as a cook for tour groups or working with sheep, or anywhere else that might hire him. To get a better job, he taught himself English and Russian, practicing speaking with all the tourists in the area.

The trip down was more enjoyable than the trip up. We saw the way we came, looking ever so much like the path leading to Mordor. Finally reaching the Monastery guest house, the Romanis were exhausted. We had a brief lunch together, and then they retired to their rooms with the understanding that they would knock on my door in 20 minutes or so, because they wanted to visit the Monastery proper.

Twenty minutes or so passed, and I did hear a knock on my door. Just Mrs. Romani stood there as her her husband remained in bed, feeling rather sore. I don't know how Mrs. Romani did it, quite frankly. At any rate, I guided her towards the Monastery which was crammed with people, a long line snaking out the front door. She spoke no English, but was rather insistent that the line wasn't for the Monastery, but for something else. We went over to another large gate and entered a construction area and I apologized to the workers. I finally guided her back to the first entrance and got us into the Monastery. We spent some time in the basilica and then went on the hunt. There is, it seems, a shrine to Mary somewhere on the premises that has special significance to the Georgians for some reason or another and stubborn Mrs. Romani was going to say mass there, whether the curators liked it or not. In the meanwhile, we went and saw the icon museum where I did my best to stop her from taking illicit pictures of the icons. She did get permission to get a photo of one particular picture of Christ's ascension, which thrilled her. We talked to the curators at the museum, doing our best to find out how she could get to that St. Mary's shrine. This was amusing to many people, I am sure, because she spoke very little English, just Russian, I spoke English and very little Arabic and she is a very religious Eastern Orthodox Christian, a little old Eastern European lady and I am an American wearing jelbaab and hijab. They do not come across this every day. The curators spoke mainly Arabic and so would tell me, basically, that it's not permitted and only the 20 remaining monks or so get to pray there and she can't - but maybe if she talks to such and such a person? Of course, we can't find that person and we go back and I try to talk with various people between my very little bit of Arabic and my English - and goodness, I might have tried Spanish and French, too, for all I know. Finally, somehow, a young Russian man appears on the scene and Mrs. Romani accosts him and emotionally spills out her story. He nods and nods and nods and is very polite to her - he speaks some English and is able to find someone to explain that there will be a mass at noon at the basilica. It's not what she wants, but it will have to do. I need to go, however, because I had made arrangements to get a taxi ride to Nuweiba in order to get the ferry today; spending the extra day in Iskandria with Fatima had set me a day behind. So, I tell her good by and thank the young man for his help, feeling slightly bad about leaving him with her. He would have his hands full, I'm sure.

I returned to my room to gather my things, and stop off and say goodbye to Mr. Romani. We exchange addresses - he invites me again to contact them if I ever want to get a visa to go to Georgia, because he works at the Georgian embassy in Egypt and I might have mentioned at a previous meal that I had been looking into going to Azerbaijan and Georgia for spring break following the revolution that disrupted my Syrian travel plans but that it's impossible to get said visas to near east countries without having personal contacts of family/friends inside or being part of a special tourist group. I run outside to meet my taxi, and away we go.

The big white van motors through the protectorate, and, as the only passenger I slide around a bit on the large benches. It's a bit of a drive, and I'm looking forward to three hours of awkward silence. At the crossroads, however, a woman joins us; the driver asks if I mind. No, of course not; I'm actually rather glad not to be the only passenger. The woman explains to the driver that her young daughter was ill - I think, actually, she had a mental problem, but my Arabic wasn't good enough for all the details - and that she was going to see her but ran out of money for transportation. We drive with her for two hours or so, and let her go at a small village. The taxi driver thanks me for letting her come and asks if I understood the conversation? I said, oh, about her daughter and the money? Yes, I think so. We continue on for a few minutes, and then see another person looking for a ride. This time, it's a police officer standing along the side of the road; of course, we pull over and pick him up, taking him to Nuweiba. I chuckle to myself at how I haven't really been traveling alone: from the good taxi driver in Luxor, to Fatima, to the Romanis, to these two passengers, I've been well surrounded. I can only look forward to who is awaiting me on the ferry.

Egypt, Day 9: Climbing Mt. Sinai

Part of the perks of staying at an actual, legitimate hotel involve the food. Now, I have had some pretty good breakfasts at the other establishments I've stayed at in Egypt - but when I'm paying 3times as much as I normally would for a hotel room, I expect a nice breakfast. It was very good - not amazingly excellent, but more than sufficient. There was plenty of sweet bread, coffee, cereal, milk, and good jams.

Gathering my things, I (or rather, the doorman) got a taxi and away I went to Cairo Gateway. I purchased my ticket to Saint Katherine's monastery (Ad-Deir Sant Katreen). Being very unsure of when the bus to the monastery would leave that day - if it would leave at all - I had arrived by 8 am; the bus, I found out, was running at would leave at 11 am. That gave me three hours to wait in the giant bus station and mall. The first storey/entrance consists of the ticket windows, lots of elevators, stairs, and escalators, and a food court; the upper floors are a shopping mall; and the ground/basement floor is filled with curved metal seats for waiting for the buses that pull up just outside the sliding glass doors. I waited for a good two hours and then went to ask which gate my bus would be leaving from. Some confusion (and some help from a nice English speaking young man) later, and I was waiting by the correct gate. I saw a primly dressed elderly Western couple waiting as well. I smiled at them, and they came to site beside me.

"Where...are you going?" The man asked.

"Saint Katherine's," I replied.

"Which....?" he motioned to the doors.

I pointed out the gate. There was very little conversation as the man spoke very little English, and his wife none at all. However, we smiled and I determined that I would make sure they got to the monastery with me with no problems.

We boarded the bus and I got them to their seats, just across from mine. The bus driver's son was taking up various front seats, kicked in and out of them as passengers arrived. He ended up in the seat beside me and away we went.

The bus lurched along the familiar path I had just traveled to Iskandria; at the final small bus-stop, we picked up a few passengers, including a new seat mate for me, a middle-aged woman "Farah." She and I talked a little bit, but again my lack of substantial Arabic prevented our saying much beyond our general histories.

Again, the bus played the quranic chanting. Loudly. For seven hours. Straight. Across the Sinai desert. Combined with the same smell of stale incense, sweat, and bad cologne, it was an experience I will not soon forget. The scenery was beautiful, if barren - and there was a lot of it, as we traveled from Cairo to the very tip of the Sinai peninsula.

We made 1 major stop, about 4 hours into the journey, at a tiny rest-stop in a tiny town. I assisted my seatmate and my new friends the "Romanis" in finding restrooms and food. I bought a package of biscuits to try to share with my seatmate; Farah had brought sandwiches that she had forced on me earlier. When you are traveling, you have to bring food to share; and you have to be prepared to partake of other people's food. I have never yet been on a bus ride in which (when it was long enough and the other person brought food), I didn't at least have food offered me if not thrust into my hands. Farah would not, however, take any of my tea biscuits despite my doing my best to make her take them. She merely smiled and bought me a glass of tea. I don't know why it would be rude for me to refuse the tea but not for her to refuse my tea biscuits, but it made sense to her.

More driving - have I mentioned, seven hours of it? - across the Sinai desert. (With the quran blasting and the incense wafting.) The bus driver, at least, was enjoying himself as he meandered across the road, driving down the middle just as he pleased. The sights - beyond the beautiful desert itself - were interesting, as we passed a few small towns, some crumbling resorts, and many Bedouin villages located in oases. We passed one hospital, located among these small settlements, and I could not help but wonder what kinds of doctors practiced there; what brought them? I'm assuming it was a government hospital, possibly military.

We finally arrived on the Saint Katherine's protectorate, and Farah disembarked on one of the small settlements within the nature reserve. I had some nervousness as to when I should actually disembark to get to the monastery itself. I spoke with the bus driver in Arabic, and got the idea that it would be farther down, and then at the stop we'd get a taxi - which we did. It was the final stop when we disembarked; I helped the Romanis with their things, making sure we all got a taxi. I spoke for a brief moment with the bus driver - this time in English, which he spoke very well (why he had let me meander on in Arabic before, I don't know). He had used to work in Jordan, it turns out, and we spent a few moments doing the "Oh, really? Do you know such and such a place?" game, which is always such fun to play.

We arrived at the monastery guest house, and I got a room for myself and my friends; we then went to dinner, which was absolutely amazing - rice and meat and salad and bread and oh! gustatory delight. Now, the purpose of coming to St. Katherine's is to climb Mt. Sinai and see the sunrise from it. So, I spent the better part of the evening in one of the most frustrating exchanges of my life - all in Arabic, mind you - trying to arrange a guide/flashlight situation with one of the guesthouse managers for myself and the Romanis. The problem was, I wanted to go up one way ("The Stairs of Repentence") by myself with just a flashlight around 3am. The Romanis, however, I was sure needed a guide. I just wasn't sure if I wanted to go with them or not. So there was considerable confusion. Finally, however, I thought we had it straight, and I went to get a few hours of sleep.

I arose again in the cold silence of the night, just before 2, and knocked on the Romanis' door, making sure they were awake. I took them over to the place where the manager had said there would be guides waiting, told them this is where they could get their guide, then went back to my room for a few minutes before I was going to set out alone. A few minutes later, however, there was a knock at my door, with the poor guides looking rather confused and frustrated. Now, it's a good long hike to the top of the mountain and the Romanis weren't young. However, they wanted to go with a "group" of some sort - to this day, I don't know what they wanted. I think Mrs. Romani had this idea of going up with candles, singing hymns and praying with a Russian Orthodox Group. However, there were none. I then spent the next 20 minutes trying to convince them to take a guide and go up - if there was a group coming after them, the group would catch up. They were having none of it. Finally, one of the guides realized they spoke Russian, which he also spoke. He was able to get through to them much better; still, however, Mrs. Romani stubbornly insisted that they would wait for a group. About half an hour after getting up, a few other people showed up and Mrs. Romani was finally convinced to start on the way. She refused a guide, insisting on going with the group; since they weren't officially with the other tourists (who were from Britain), they weren't waiting for her. Deciding they needed a guide, I hired the one who spoke Russian and English, and we set off on our way.

Climbing slowly, we rounded the curves of the path. To one side or another, growling and bellowing emanated from the dark. Gurgling noises and foul stenches met us as we passed the camels waiting for passengers. It felt as though we were passing colonies of Balrogs and other monstrous beasts.

I won't describe the climb in all its gory details - but suffice it to say that it was very long. Very cold, and the Romanis were very stubborn. We stopped at various Bedouin-run coffee huts along the way to regain our breath and get warm. Twenty minutes or so before sunrise, we finally reached the small plateau where our path met the other path of the Stairs of Repentance. I enjoyed meeting another guide who spoke Russian, Arabic, and German.....he and our guide spoke in Arabic, talked with the Romanis in Russian, and then asked me questions in German to which I would reply in Arabic. At this point, the path became all stairs, and neither the guide nor I thought Mrs. Romani could make it to the top. So, I took off alone, going as quickly as I could up to see the sun rise over the mountains. Coming back, I met the guide who had brought the Romanis camera with him to take pictures for them. We continued back together - where we met the Romanis struggling up. Our guide took me to one of the coffee huts, put me in back and instructed me not to talk to anyone, then went out to lead the Romanis up to the top.

Coming back, Mrs. Romani really wanted to take the Stairs of Repentance, and it took all of my, the guides, and her husband's persuasive power that walking down 3400 stone steps was not a wise decision. Down we came, the way we had already come, but it looked so different in the daylight!

Egypt, Day 8: Going to the Library!

Of course, my being me (whom else could I be?) the highlight and focus of any trip to Egypt must include the Library of Alexandria. Even if it's not the original one, it's still world-famous and any world-famous library is worth seeing. I just didn't expect to see it by being taken around by a lovely, little, older, Egyptian lady.

I awoke in the morning, somewhat unsure of myself - do I try to take a shower, or just brush my teeth? Do I get up before her or what exactly is the protocol for when you wake up in a stranger's house and don't really speak the language?

I ended up awake a few hours before my hostess and straightened the room, got my belongings together, and got dressed, just brushing my teeth and washing my face. Fatima, however, decided I needed a shower; and in truth, I really did. I did my best, though, to clean the black rivulets of grime off her shower once I was finished and I think I was half successful.

She fixed breakfast of bread, eggs, and a tahini hummus dip that we ate while watching Al-Jazeera. We got a cab, which she told to go to the Roman museum - I had told her earlier that I had wanted to see it, but that I was pretty certain that it was closed for renovations, since my guidebook said it was closed in 2009 and I didn't expect anything to have happened too quickly. I was correct.

It was enjoyable driving about the city with a native Iskandrian; for one, she knew how much we should pay for cab fare. It was also fun to see normal life in Egypt, and not be running around as a tourist; she and the taxi driver talked pleasantly as the driver dropped off his other fare. In Egypt (at least, Iskandria), unlike Jordan, more than one person can hail a cab and the other passenger will be picked up if the destinations are near each other.

The day was wet and rainy and getting to the library was a relief, however. Fatima and I wandered about on our own, for a bit, but then she decided that a proper tour was necessary. We ended up with a group of shebaab - that is, there was a group (a school or other youth group, I'm sure) of teenage boys that were going through the library with a tour guide, and we appended ourselves to them. Although the tour guide was official, I'm still not sure if it was an "official" guide or a school guide. However, it was fun to tour with them; the tour guide would physically drag one or two of the young men away to make sure that Fatima and I got in the front row to hear his talk or to look at the surroundings, but the guys were all very well behaved. Unfortunately, however, the guide was of course speaking in Arabic, so my understanding of the presentation was a bit limited. Oh, I got the main idea of the history of the library, how it was founded and how much it cost to build the modern library -and look at those stairs there, and so and so paid this much money for that - but I certainly didn't understand the details. My ability to fake understanding, however, has dramatically increased.

The tour was also lovely because we got to see some parts of the museum that we would've otherwise had to pay an entrance fee for: we saw the history of Alexandria in art and then a room full of things from some movie that a guy from Alexandria made. It was really cool!

There were also several displays of modern art and one of traditional Egyptian/Levant clothing - very beautiful! We then got to tour the Anwar Sadat museum display, which was awesome. It had many of his personal effects, letters to and from him (including several from various U.S. presidents and dignitaries), all his personal office effects, and the clothing he was wearing on the day of his assassination. I was thankful I had taken my History of Jordan class and so was fairly familiar with Sadat's role in the history of the region. Furthermore, it was really cool to be touring it with an elderly Egyptian lady, to whom he was a hero, and given the current political situation in Egypt.

We toured the rest of the library, and then went out to brave the rain. Following a jaunt to the train station to buy my ticket, we returned home for a rest. My time with Fatima was concluded with a trip to KFC, where we ate American style fried chicken and watched haram music videos on their flat-screen while we killed time waiting for the train.

Finally, Fatima decided it was time for us to go to the bus station; I had been doing my best to assure her that I could manage alone, but I don't think she believed me. She accompanied me to the train station, where we sat together, waiting for my train. I enjoyed watching the people pass me by; most of the trains were the third class carriages, which consist of hordes of people crammed together without seats. Fatima explained that the women passing by with the very large bundles on their heads were women returning home from the market.

Just before the train's arrival we said our goodbye's - they were pretty sappy, not going to lie. My Arabic may be limited, but what it lacks in extensive vocabulary, I can definitely make up for in imagination. I pretended I was one of the characters from Calormen in my poetical effusions. At last, the engine groaned into the station and Fatima physically took me by the hand and half ran and half pushed our way through the crowd, making sure I got on safely.

I found my seat, after entering the wrong compartment, and settled into the comfort of the oversized chair to enjoy the 3 hour ride back to Cairo.

We pulled into Ramses Station around 9 that evening; I was thankful I had been there earlier and so knew the lay of the land. Very hungry, I found a tiny koshary stand/restaurant. I scanned the menu quickly and saw "koshary" with all the options of various dressings and sauces. Unsure of myself, I looked around for what I should do. There was a glass counter, with men standing behind it, serving out the dishes; there was a man sitting on a high stool behind an ancient computer, and there was a table or two half-cleared of the previous diner's leavings. I approached the man behind the computer. "Koshary?" I ordered. He gave an amused smile and motioned to a table. A waiter came around to give it a quick swipe and take my order of a small bowl of koshary.

It was a bit cold and dry, but it was edible. I finished it quickly and went to pay. I asked how much it was.

"Thalath genay."

I paused. I had never heard these words before. I blinked at him. "Again?" I asked in Arabic.

He said it slowly. "Thalath genay."

Something clicked in my brain. "Oooooh! Talata genay!" I said, realizing he had said "3 guineas."

He gave another amused smile. An obvious foreigner who doensn't understand simple Arabic is correcting his pronunciation? (I wasn't, of course; it's just that one, I was expecting to hear "lira" for the Egyptian pound, not the genay; two, I'm still not accustomed to the use of "guh" instead of "zhu"; and three, in Jordan, it's generally pronounced "talata" and not thalath, although it is spelled thalath. Anyway.)

I handed him my money, as he asked about where I was from, what my religion was, and why, if I was a Christian, I was wearing abeya. I did my best to answer, but, as we have established, my FusHa is lacking and my Egyptian colloquial is even less. Oh, well. I think I amused him, at any rate.

I wandered about the square, looking for a taxi to take me to my hotel. I had been wanting to stay at a hostel very near the Cairo Gateway where I'd have to go the following day, but decided to please my parents by opting for the much more expensive hotel because the guidebook description of the hostel said that "the approach borders on the post-apocalyptic." And post-apocalyptic is not a street decorating style that I want to encounter at 10pm in the evening alone in Egypt.

After seeing how the taxi worked in Iskandria, and how short of a drive it was from the square to my hotel, I did my best to only pay the driver 3LE instead of the 5 he demanded. I finally gave in, however, again figuring my parents didn't want me arguing about the equivalent of 25 US cents late at night while alone in Egypt. I also figured that my case wasn't really helped by the fact that it was actually a nice hotel and he figured that I could afford it. Grrrr.

I entered the hotel - the architecture from the outside was the same pollution stained beige, but inside it was beautiful - and got my room. He mentioned the price in Euros (really, there are very few American tourists in the ME) and I paused, slightly scared. I didn't have any Euros with me.

"Um, could I pay in Egyptian pounds?" I asked, hesitating. I've never been to a hotel where the price is first given in another currency other than the one of the country.

The attendant gave me an amused smile. "Of course." I guess it was just my night for amusing people.

The bellhop showed me to my room. I amused myself by watching television - most of the channels were in German, which I could understand about as well as Arabic. I then took a shower and nearly met my death.

Now, I've never thought the way I'd die would be death by bathtub; in Egypt, at least, I expected a traffic accident or martyrdom or something a bit more exciting than falling in the tub, but honestly, I think taking that shower was the most dangerous thing I had done in my trip to Egypt. The tub was small, with a severe slope in the back for sitting upon. Somehow, I reached for the soap, slipped on the slope, got my big toe stuck in the round drain, and knocked my head against the wall and slamming my body down against the slope and back of the tiny tub. I'm pretty sure those bruises might be the most permanent souvenir from my trip.

Exhausted and bruised - but finally clean - I retired to fully enjoy my comfortable bed.

Egypt, Day 7: Entertaining Angels

The conductor knocked on my door a few moments after I awoke. Getting ready in a flash, I took my breakfast tray and enjoyed the bread, cheese, and took the orange for later. Consulting my maps, I had a difficult time deciding which Cairo station to get off at, Ramses or Giza. I told the conductor Giza, but ended getting off at Ramses. From there, I took the subway to the station nearest Cairo Gateway, Cairo's main bus station. Finding the bus station from the subway, however, was a little bit more difficult. It took asking for directions from the information window at the subway, and two traffic policemen as well as crossing multiple lanes of Cairo traffic.

I walked towards the station, lamenting the decided lack of street sign names. Finally finding something that looked like a large bus station, I walked towards what I thought was an entrance. It was an entrance - just not for people.

Getting some directions from the mechanics there, I found the main entrance and entered the plaza, easily buying my ticket. I boarded the tour bus with a large group of men, standing out a bit as the only female on board.

The bus made its way through the Cairo traffic, making a few stops: once, for the driver to get off, talk with a friend of his, and make a few small purchases; once, for two or three passengers to be picked up from a random street; and once and finally at another bus station, this one very small. Another woman got on and settled herself beside me; of course, the bus tickets are sold for seats segregated by gender (there are some really nice things about living in a predominantly Muslim country; one of which is that I rarely, rarely ever have to sit by a man on any sort of public transport).

She was a lovely older woman; we had what conversation we could, establishing who I was, who she was, and all about our families. We were hampered, of course, by my rather lack of substantial Arabic. After my "I am a student, studying at the University of Jordan," spiel, my ability to make spontaneous conversation rather degenerates.

The trip to Iskandria (Alexandria) only lasted about three hours; however, it seemed much longer. I did my best to nod off once or twice, but the awful chanting of the quran - loudly - the entire bus ride did not permit it. Neither did the horrible odor of stale incense, sweat, and bad men's cologne.

We came closer to Iskandria, and "Fatima" asked me about my plans. I told her I planned to stay at a hotel; this, however, was not good enough for her. Now, I had the hotel name with me, and I had its phone number; but the street name was in the fold of my paper and had been obliterated. My plan was to call the hotel and ask them the street name and if that didn't work, I had a list of 5 other hotels, their phone numbers and their street names - but Fatima wasn't having this. We arrived at the bus stop, and I was surprised at the lack of a bus station: it was only a gravel parking lot with lots of buses and taxi drivers hovering about the doors as soon as the bus stopped. Fatima took my by the arm and nearly dragged me through the small crowd. It may have looked like I was being the considerate young lady helping her grandmother along, but believe me, she was taking me hostage.

She flagged a taxi from the street and gave him directions, taking me back to her house. Once there, she showed me to her room and did her best to convince me to stay with her. She told me how she was all alone - her husband dead; her daughter a doctor and her son a pilot. She told me it would be much better for me to stay with her, much better indeed. I agreed to stay.

We talked for a while in her salon, as I tried to establish a little of my family history. The conversation quickly petered out, however, and we went to watch Al-Jazeera for a while. Now, I had planned to spend that day in Alexandria going to the library and to a coffee shop or two as well as a museum. Fatima decided she would come with me - rather, she would take me to the library. However, we first needed to take lunch. The fish she had ordered - her daughter had prepared them for her, I believe, according to the phone conversation I heard - took a long time coming, though, and Fatima was tired after her trip to Cairo, where she had taken care of an ill family member. So, we ate when the fish finally arrived - and they were the best fish I have every eaten! - and then laid down around 4 and went to bed.

By this time, of course, everything was closed; so after our naps, there was just enough time to watch more al-Jazeera, eat a light snack, and then turn into bed early that evening following a brief phone call home.

No pictures of the day, but really, I think it was one of the most memorable.

Egypt, Day 6: Luxorious tombs

My friend left early in the morning to catch her train back to Cairo, and my first day in Egypt alone began.

I went down and inquired about breakfast, establishing that I'd be back in about fifteen minutes. I went outside and wandered about the city streets, enjoying walking through the back-alley markets filled with ancient women in their sooty abeyas, selling their snow colored pigeons for the day's dinner. I was pleasantly surprised at the utter lack of harassment; Luxor had been anything but peaceful, but in the calm of the morning in the streets where no tourists probably ever wandered, it was calm and I meandered without the constant, "Welcome! Welcome! Special price, just for you!"

I returned to the hotel and had a wonderful breakfast on the roof, overlooking a school yard, where the children were already fast at work and fast at play. (The breakfast, if you care to know, was yoghurt, bread, jam and cheese, an omelette and tea. Included in the room bill.) I sipped my "shai" listening to the contemporary American music they were playing, while in the distance the school children shouted.

Finishing breakfast and coming back out to the main street, I saw a lone woman window shopping. Knowing that I was now traveling alone - and that my jelbaab was too hot to wear all day in most places - I debated approaching her with my limited Arabic about where I could buy an abeya. Rehearsing my lines to myself, I went up to her and told her that I wanted to buy an abeya, but I didn't know where. Could she tell me the name of a street where I could find a store selling abeyas?

She stared at me. I don't think she had many American tourists approaching her, asking in broken Arabic where they might be able to purchase an abeya. I doubt it. She looked me up and down. She said something, and motioned for me to come with her. We went down a few store fronts and she pointed to a store. I smiled and thanked her, and she went on her way. I hurried back to the street where I had arranged to meet the driver from the previous night.

I saw him and got in. I had originally been planning just to use him to drive me around the city in the morning - I needed to stop at a bank - and then just over the bridge, where I could get a bike to go to Valley of the Kings. However, he made a good offer of a price that included driving me around in the morning and in the afternoon, taking me to the train. I was surprised; it was actually on par with what the guidebook said a ride should be, after one had bargained the driver down. Deciding that he was trustworthy enough - he had, after all been very good about finding our hotel the night before and not asking for extra because of the time it took, and then had quoted a fair price for the day's tour - I went ahead and agreed to having a driver for the day.

And I was glad I did. The weather was far too hot for comfort and I think I would've just laid down and died if I had to bike the few miles to get to the Valley of the Kings. Once there, I entered the site, doing my best to fend off the touts. I got my tickets, and had nearly escaped unscathed, when one of them peddling a book about the tombs attached himself to me like a leech and would not go away. I walked from the entrance quite a distance without acknowledging him, and then finally only spoke to him in Arabic. He started selling his book for 50LE and brought it down to 30. I told him no, no, and kept walking; he brought it down to 20, then to 15, saying he had change if I needed. Frustrated, I paused and was planning to offer him five. Now, I keep my change well divided upon my person; a certain amount in each of my pockets and other certain amounts in various compartments in my purse. It lessens the risks of being robbed entirely blind, and when bargaining, it's very helpful to reach into one pocket or to do a thorough "search" of your purse and only be able to come up with a 5 or 10LE note. Unfortunately, it doesn't work so well when you make a rookie mistake, like I did. Reaching into the wrong pocket, I pulled out a 20. He pounced on it eagerly, and I bought myself a guide book to the tombs for 15LE (about 3USD). He then invited me to a party that afternoon. Yeah, me and who else?

However, I absolutely loved looking at all the tomb paintings; they were absolutely gorgeous. Unfortunately, no pictures allowed.

Coming back, another boy attached himself to my side. This one, however, wasn't too bad and merely talked as we walked towards the taxi, keeping his fellow touts from harassing me, for which I was thankful.

From Valley of the Kings to Deir al-Medina; its entrance price was much cheaper, but at each of the tomb sites there was, of course, a guide whom you are expected to tip, so the entrance ticket ended up costing about the same as that to Valley of the Kings. However, the paintings in the small tombs were excellent and very well preserved. I was also very happy for the chance to practice my Arabic; one of the guides conducted his spiel in very slow FusHa for me, and combined with the images and his gestures, I was very happy to find that I could understand it all quite well.

From the tombs, I went out to explore around to the side, accidentally going up towards an archaeological excavation in progress....some shouting and pointing later, and I made my way towards the temple. There was a nice tour guide there, , and a fat old man who showed me an old cistern, but who really wanted to sell me some broken old pieces of pottery for an outrageous and exorbitant price. This time, I escaped with most of my pocket money intact.

Back to the car, and all I really wanted to do was be done with the hot and miserable town of Luxor. The car driver wanted to suggest a restaurant and take me to a bazaar....both places where, if I bought something, he would get a commission. He wasn't pushy about it, however, and I did end up eating at the restaurant....getting the cheapest item on the menu, babaghanouj, which I just happen to love.

I then walked through the town, pausing in the tourist souq, enjoying looking at a few items without the hassle that comes in the evening when all the touts and tourists are out and about. Having time to kill, I nearly walked my feet off in the town, making several circles about the Corniche and Television street. I stopped at a supermarket where they actually had a scanner and I was able to buy bottles of water for much less than the 5LE many stores try to make Westerners pay. I returned there twice in the day: to get water and then for food for supper and a snack.

Killing more time, I finally found another main street, one with more shopping as I was still trying to find a nice abeya. I went in and found a store. One of the girls attendant approached me and fixed my hijab with two of her own pins as I explained my situation. Their selection was very nice, but a little expensive. I told them my limit, however, and they did find one on the clearance rack that I could get. I tried it on, and they arranged the scarf; they did in in a way, however, that I swear made me look like the flying nun. I thanked them, gathered my things and left.

When I got downstairs, I realized that I had lost my sunglasses. I paused to search through my belongings; within a moment or two, several female shoppers had come over to inquire if they could help, what was my name, where was I from?.....I realized I had left my sunglasses in the store, ran up and got them (alhamdulillah), and then went to spend another while walking about the town, waiting for the taxi to come and take me to the train station.

Finally, I returned to the hotel, picked up my single backpack, and confused my taxi driver a bit by my abeya-ed appearance. At the train station, I looked for my platform, embarassing myself a bit by walking towards the engineering/repairing platform that just happened to have the same number as the platform I wanted. The engineers helped me find the platform I wanted, and I plunked myself down on a bence to wait in the dark evening for a seeming eternity. There were soldiers everywhere, waiting for one of the trains to come take them to their next destination. And, in accordance with the general nature of the town of Luxor, it was the first time I got the "bbsbsbsbsbbssbbssbsbssbsbsbsbs" of a cat-call. Loudly.

I was only a bit nervous about somehow missing my train. However, I felt much comforted by the presence of a group of German tourists (foreigners are the only ones allowed on the sleeper train). I went over to them and tried to have a conversation; however, they didn't speak any English (they were all elderly), and all of my German had fled my head - every time I tried to say something, I could only think of some Arabic. I was just left with "In einem bachlein helle, da schoss in fruher eil...." which I didn't think would go over too well.

The train arrived and I got to my cabin (unfolding bed!) without problem. It was now 9 in the evening - but of course they served us dinner. They did not, however, tell us that the tea was not included in the dinner but that it was extra. *Sigh* You just can't escape it.

I fell into a delicious sleep, only to be awakened at 3am by my ringing phone. I saw it was from home, and I was immediately terrified something had happened - something bad. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing," Mom or Dad - I don't remember! It was 3am - said. "But you had called us earlier and said you could talk."

"Yes, I did," I groaned. "But not at 3am."

"Okay."

"Okaythanksloveyoubye."

And with that, I rolled back over and was asleep before my phone had completely turned off.